Harper's Blood
by Calico West
Summary: A man wanted for murder makes trouble for Slim, for the name printed on the poster is Harper.
1. Chapter 1

**Harper's Blood**

Chapter One

His spurs jangled and clinked as the pair of boots that they were fastened to moved steadily along the boardwalk in a direct aim toward the hotel. He wasn't familiar with the town, as it was just another spot on a map of Wyoming Territory, but at least for the night, it would provide for him a bed. The door creaked on a rusty hinge as he entered, bringing a set of spectacled eyes to rest on his frame as he stepped forward, keeping him fully in sight as he stopped in front of the register. Aside from a decent layer of trail dust that clung to him from head to foot, he knew the scrutiny coming from the opposite side of the counter was taking note of his features, the dark hair that curled slightly underneath the rim of his hat, his lean, yet muscular frame, the color of his eyes and the shape of his jaw. With a request for a back room, as they were often the most quiet, the clerk pushed an inkwell in his direction and as he took the pen in hand, he signed his name, without flourish or flair, but using his given handle, J. Harper.

There wasn't much in the stuffy room to keep his interest, so with a brief look in the mirror as he ran his hand over the stubble that would get shaved off before he flattened himself on the floral printed bedding once it became a darkened hour, he left the hotel room and his feet found the dirt again that belonged to the street. He stretched a few kinks loose in his back up to his shoulders and then with a sweeping glance up and down the boardwalk he picked the nearest saloon, as the town boasted two similar ramshackle establishments, to head for. With a friendly pat to his mount as he passed by where the faithful horse was tied to a hitching post, his spurs began to clank once more as he hurried his pace to where the enticing smell of booze wafted from.

He paused at the swinging doors and looked around the interior of the room, a necessary inspection that came naturally for him to do to before stepping all of the way inside similar buildings, and then entered. He slapped a coin on the bar with a black gloved hand, keeping it covered longer than deemed necessary, perhaps in a gesture that seemed to say that he was reluctant to part with the money, yet the fiery liquid would merit the loss of what jingled the loudest on his body, what was in his pocket. The glass was emptied with a pinched face and a shudder and as he fought the desire to have another, he turned around to lean his back against the bar, his eyes being drawn to a corner table where a group of men were fully engaged in a poker game. Intrigued, he stepped closer, his hand wrapping around the meager supply of money that remained in his possession, debating its fate that might become multiplied, or fully depleted.

He'd learned to play, and cheat, in his Texas homeland and had been touted as one of the best at the game, but he'd let the skill wane the past few years as life took several different turns. He knew he could still win, and there was a taste for winning in his mouth, or perhaps it was only the remnant of the whiskey that he'd downed, but it was there, and it took him to the empty chair where he was welcomed and quickly dealt in. Poker players liked fresh blood, mostly the money that came with the newcomer, but never a cheater, and there was definitely one in their midst, and this time, it wasn't him.

It was the fifth hand and he was down to his final coin, but he didn't sweat over its landing on the growing pile in the middle of the table. If there were beads of moisture on his face, and there were several dots sprinkling his forehead, they were formed by the tension that hung around him, and nothing else. He knew he would win because he'd been dealt three aces, one from the top, two from the bottom, not to mention the double fives that were slid alongside the highest rank. If the dealer was making a mistake or just liked his tenacious game face and wished to see it alight with a smile, he didn't know and wasn't about to ask. A good poker player learned to never toss a question on top of the pot when it was all on the line, especially when he wasn't the only one that had gone all in.

When the final man in the circle of players gave an assertive nod, it seemed as if everyone was holding their breath as one by one, each man revealed a handful of cards. Across from him there were two ladies together with two tens. The next man in the sequence around the table had long since folded, but kept a sharp gaze trained on the hand that was nearest, the one to the hopeful winner's right, his biggest threat. The revealing brought a flush, from the hand, and in the cheeks as it was thought that his palms would become filled with the large lot in the table's center, but it wouldn't beat his full house. When his own cards were displayed amidst a few groans, his eyes went to the man to his left, who slapped a pair of kings roughly down in disgust, the intense facial expression that was set in place clearly indicated that somehow he'd been duped. In that moment it was realized that the three aces that had made him the now despised winner had been meant for the man with the king duo. It wasn't the first time an attempt at cheating had been flubbed, after all, this wasn't a town the size of Abilene or Laredo where experts abounded, but a smaller than average town that would only gain interest in amateurs. Either way, he'd take it, and he stood to gather his winnings.

"You cheated, Mister," this came from the unnamed man who'd held the lonely set of kings.

"How?" His voice was quite sharp for uttering a single word.

"I don't know," the accusing man abruptly pushed his chair back, the legs squeaking against the dingy saloon floor and then he stood, "but I'm aiming to find out."

"He dealt 'em," his head nodded toward the dealer as he chased the last three coins across the table and dropped them in his pocket.

"Are you saying I don't know how to deal?"

He wanted to say it, but he didn't. A cheater that didn't know how to properly cheat, leaving his partner in crime a sore loser, but making a stranger all the more richer, he didn't need to point out the obvious for the entire room to see. With a smile he tipped his hat, ready to leave, but when a rush of air was exhaled from the amateurish dealer, his instincts kicked into high gear and his hand came to rest in a close direction with his gun. His eyes, ones that he knew could turn into the steeliest of blue shot first as they made contact with a gaping gaze across from him, showing he was ready for the challenge and he could clearly see that it wouldn't be accepted. His professional stance could strike fear into the most seasoned outlaw and as it was already established in his mind that this other man was something akin to being incompetent, the back down happened immediately, but the partner might be something altogether different.

He stepped backward, gun still all the ready, yet fully intending on exiting the saloon without firing the weapon, that is, if everyone else did the same. He knew he garnered the entire room's attention, it wasn't just in their stares but in the murmurs that started in no particular corner, all aiming in his direction. The whispers heightened as he turned and moved away, but all he could make out amongst the hushed tones were three words, strangely hitting on an accurate descriptive of the type of man he really was, a cowboy, a gunman, and a scoundrel. The result of their musings wasn't going to let him find natural daylight anytime soon.

"Hold it."

The command from behind him brought a bristle to his spine and without reluctance, he stopped and turned around. Avoiding violence wasn't going to happen after all, especially now that a man that had been wronged was bound to create a fight, one that he wasn't afraid to enter. He was ready for the draw, as he could say he hadn't set aside the preparedness on his short walk toward the saloon door and he was ready to win, never willing to lose. But in all gunfights, there would always have to be one of both. He knew he was fast, sometimes too fast, and this time it was no different. His gun was aimed and fired before the opposing pistol even fully broke free from its holster, but when the bullet pierced man dropped face down on the floor, the trigger would be pulled again.

Reflexes, it was often said his were impeccable, but this time as he fired another round, he'd taken the impulse too quickly from a flinch of a different hand. There was a glass of whiskey left untouched on the table nearest him and he brought it to his lips to chase down the bitterness that settled in his mouth as it did every time he was forced to take a life. The moment he swallowed, he'd known what he'd done as his eyes, supposedly just as experienced as his gun hand, saw something that they'd missed before. The unprofessional card dealer was unarmed and was now on the floor, nothing left to call him but a dead man.

Just for a moment he stood in stunned stillness, the reality of what literally lay before him sending a chill down his backbone. He'd killed two men. With the exception of friends and relations that would mourn a loss, the man that had been dropped in self defense wouldn't be the one that was remembered in as much significance as the other, for it was the unarmed man where the attention would be centered. His death was plain and simply described as murder and he had been the one to pull the trigger, which would make him plain and simply described as the murderer. And nothing about it had been done in secrecy.

That was when he made the choice to run. Not a man that remained in the saloon had the fortitude to take on his fast gun after what had just been witnessed, so his feet were free to move without dodging heroic bullets as he fled the scene, bursting through the saloon doors and out into the street in a rush. His hands gripped the reins of his horse as his foot touched the stirrup, the animal sent into motion before his backside even touched the saddle. As the hooves kicked up clouds of dust underneath him in his harried escape, he glanced behind at the town that wouldn't be forgetting him anytime soon, for he'd left more than just a couple of bodies to bury there. He'd left part of himself, too. People had seen his face, heard his voice, and the most identifying factor remained permanently etched at the hotel where he'd signed his name, at least with an initial in front of his last. It was all more than enough to get a wanted poster printed with his details on it. That fact didn't disturb him, at least not much, for at different times, both his name and face had been found on posters before.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Slim Sherman stepped through the barn door at sunset, more dust on his body than perhaps was on the ground, but working hard on the ranch that bore his name was always more pleasure than strain, although he would readily admit at the time that roughing it alone wasn't making the daily grind very satisfying. He wasn't accustomed yet to getting up each morning to a quiet, empty house that once was alive with an energetic, growing boy, a wise, older man and a wild, renegade to call a partner. The man and the boy had taken to life in St. Louis for schooling that couldn't be learned out in the frontier, but the partner, still rather undomesticated but nevertheless the best friend he'd ever had, would soon be returning and fill the void once more.

Slim stopped at the water pump and as the cool water poured into the wooden tub, he heard the first sounds of an incoming rider. He wasn't expecting it to be Jess Harper's arrival just yet, as he'd been traveling the past few weeks to Montana delivering a horse that he'd personally broke for a rancher in the northernmost territory. Although the approaching rider was unexpected, Slim remained unalarmed as he continued his task of removing at least a thin layer of earth from his skin. Splashing the water onto his face, through partially closed lashes he saw Mort Cory round the corner of the house and stop at the hitching post.

"Howdy, Mort, would you like some coffee, supper maybe?" Slim asked before he got a good look at the Laramie sheriff's facial expression. If he would have seen the tight knit eyebrows, the deep set frown or the shadows around his eyes first, his question wouldn't have been anywhere near an invitation.

"No, Slim," Mort answered with a weary sigh as he stepped around the side of the house where Slim patted his cheeks with a towel. "I don't think either of us is going to be interested in sitting around a table full of food talking about how the humidity is making our skin crawl."

"What's wrong?" Slim draped the towel over his shoulder, only then getting a full look at Mort and what he saw did make something feel like it crawled down his spine, yet it had nothing to do with the hot, damp air.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news," Mort answered, his tone low and solemn as he reached into his shirt pocket. "I'm not quite sure how to tell you, so I'll show you first and then we'll try to sort it out with words."

Slim watched as Mort pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and as the folds opened Slim saw the characteristic print of a wanted poster and he felt the trepidation mount. For Mort to be acting the way that he was, Slim knew it couldn't be just a random outlaw on the poster, but someone he knew. He took the sheet from Mort's hands and as it turned over, the name on the page was like it was blazing with fire, imprinting not just his vision, but searing right into his heart. "J. Harper," Slim said aloud, and then for the reason, it was reduced to a whisper, "for murder?"

"I've sent several telegrams to Sheriff Conrad up in Dover inquiring about its validity and after reading the replies, I have to believe the story to be true," Mort said as he watched the troubled expression settle on Slim's features, ones that he was certain matched his own. "It was a poker game that turned ugly, although no one knows for sure who really cheated. There was a room full of eyewitnesses that said the first man was killed in self defense and then quick as a wink the other was downed, but that man was unarmed. The same man that pulled the triggers registered at the hotel a few minutes earlier as J. Harper."

"Jess doesn't sign his name with a J.," Slim said quickly, although as soon as the words were out and seeing the eyebrows rise on Mort's face, he knew he was wrong. As clearly as he saw the initialized name on the poster in his hands, he could see another poster, this one designed by Slim and Jess themselves while they were wearing marshal badges in Agate, Nebraska. They'd both used their first initial before their full last name as a stark signature to their unpopular notice in town. Slim knew that wasn't the only time either, because Jess was often in a hurry and since his chicken scratch for handwriting sometimes was hard to read, he would leave the Jess completely off and only jot down Harper. The foreboding poster didn't seem all that unusual anymore.

"I can tell by your face what you're thinking," Mort said softly, not wanting to raise Slim's ire any further with his comments, but needing to say them anyway. "I'm sure I don't have to point out you're mistaken."

"No," Slim responded with a harsh tone to his voice. "But Harper isn't an unheard of name in the west. Surely Jess isn't the only man that begins his name with a J."

"I know, Slim," Mort answered with a finger pointing at the wanted poster, "but we can't overlook the description. Dark hair, blue eyes, Texan. Unfortunately, it's all there in print and then added up with what we already know about both men makes it rather ominous that it's one and the same. Good at poker, can win honestly or with some tricks, fast gun and quick tempered. I don't like the similarities one bit."

"I haven't doubted Jess before," Slim said as he folded the wanted poster into a small square, wanting to toss it in a pile of manure, but handed it back to Mort instead, "and I'm not going to start now."

Mort stuck the foreboding folded paper back into his pocket and sighed, "I'm afraid that there are men in Laramie that don't share your sentiments."

"I don't really care what other people think," Slim said while rolling his hands into fists. He'd stood up for Jess in the middle of the so-called good citizen's of Laramie before when his past had shown an ugly side and he'd do it again.

"I know, Slim," Mort nodded bleakly.

"What about you, Mort? You don't think Jess is guilty of murder, do you?" Slim asked as his eyes drew into slits. He didn't want to have to take a different stand with Mort, but if he was going to turn against Jess in this, he would have to step away from the lawman himself. He'd always been a man that stood on the side of law and order, but when it came to Jess, everything was different.

"No, I certainly don't want to," Mort answered with a slight shake of his head. "But others sure do. When you get a man with a reputation such as Jess has and mix it with cold truth like what's printed on that poster, it's hard to dispel. This wasn't the only notice that hit town. About a dozen of them landed at the post office before I got a hold of one and let me tell you, the rumors were sure flying high before I headed out here."

"What are you going to do?" Slim asked as he ran a hand over his hair, but the action did nothing to calm his rapidly running nerves.

"I need to talk to Jess and hear what he has to say about it," Mort said, watching the shifting shadows of expressions on Slim's face. He knew the words coming next would turn it back to a shade of crimson, for anger would be a natural response when a best friend was facing what Jess had before him. "But I'm not the only one involved in this and as a sheriff I still have a duty to uphold. This poster says he's possibly a wanted man and I have no other choice but to take him in and question him. So if you know where Jess is, you better tell me."

"He's not here," Slim looked down at his boots, realizing that if Jess had been just patching fence somewhere on his property, he might have said the exact same thing.

"I was afraid you were going to say that," Mort scratched the back of his neck. "All right, where is he then?"

"He could be anywhere between here and Montana," Slim said, keeping his vocal tones even, "and that's the honest truth, Mort."

"That's a lot of ground to cover," Mort responded with a look toward the northern horizon, "or hide in."

"He's got nothing to run or hide from," Slim said with a definite assurance ringing in his voice.

"I hope you're right, Slim," Mort stepped toward his horse and picked up its reins. "There's going to be a lot of men looking for him so if you see him first, make sure you bring him straight to me and don't try to go through this alone together. Well, I suppose I should be getting back to town before it gets any darker, after all, nighttime is when the lawbreakers seem to prowl. Oh, and Slim…"

"Yeah, Mort?"

"I'm sorry," Mort said with sincerity, reaching out to Slim with the compassion that was in his voice and the kind look in his eye. "There are times I wish I could only be a friend, but badge or no badge, guilty or innocent, I want you to know that I'm on your side."

"Thanks, Mort," Slim nodded as Mort nudged his horse into a trot on the road to Laramie.

Slim was grateful for someone on the side of the law that he could turn to and trust wholeheartedly and Slim hoped that Jess knew he could rely on Mort Cory just the same. Guilty or innocent, they were words from Mort's mouth, but to Slim, there wasn't any need for an either or scenario, because even without all of the facts he knew that Jess was an innocent man. However, and Slim knew that a lot of lives often hinged on such a word, Jess, just because his name started with the same letter as on the poster, was being sought as a wanted criminal and a man in such a position, albeit completely free from guilt, might not readily put himself in any lawman's hands, including a friend's.

Slim felt certain that Jess would entrust his fate in his own care if he was there at the ranch. Being out in the middle of Wyoming with no one knowing his exact location except for the horse that he rode could keep Jess wandering for days or weeks if the knowledge that a poster with the words "Dead or Alive" printed underneath his name were being circulated. As long as Jess remained outside of the ranch in the big open where anything could happen, his life was in danger because he was out there alone. It tortured Slim to not know his partner's whereabouts, knowing that he could be hunted down for a crime Slim knew he couldn't commit, perhaps facing the barrel of a gun without anyone to stand up and say they were wrong before the trigger was pulled.

Slim would be that man to stand in Jess' defense, but he could only do so if they were together. If Jess came home, and Slim hoped it was Jess' ultimate destination, despite Mort's advice that the two men shouldn't face the situation without the sheriff's help, he knew it would be a difficult instruction to keep. Slim knew right from wrong and had lived as law abiding as he could since growing into a man, but if there was a law that he would ever break, it would be on account of Jess and it would be gladly done if it would save his best friend's life.

A friend stood by another friend's side, even if no one else did and this was the greatest law that both Slim and Jess followed when it was applied to one another. He would always stand by Jess, and Slim knew without a doubt that Jess would stand by him. Supporting each other through thick or thin was something that didn't come from stopping to think about it, as it had just come naturally for them both. It had been there from nearly the beginning and it would continue until the very end. But God forbid that the end was anywhere close by. That would be what Slim wouldn't be able to stand.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Slim waited long into the night sitting on the front porch, waiting, with a good measure of hope thrown into the middle of his lingering position for Jess to come. Even if Jess already knew he was pegged at being on the wrong side of the law, a place where he'd been before, Slim knew the likelihood of Jess traveling past midnight wasn't great, but in the long chance that he did, Slim wanted to be there for him when he arrived. But every hour slowly came and went and there was still no sign of Jess' return.

With a sigh, Slim stood, brushing his hair away from his forehead with his hands as he entered the house, not to drop into his bunk, but to stir the fire and reheat what had long become a cold pot of coffee. When the now steaming cup was set onto the table, Slim sat down, but it was like a part of him still waited outdoors as his ears were constantly listening for any sound of a rider to crest the top of the hill and descend upon the ranch house. Slim cringed at the bitter taste as he sipped from the cup and then promptly pushed its remaining contents away from him as there was no comfort in the pungent drink like there would be if his partner was sharing it with him, even if it did taste rather foul. They'd shared such cups before, for more than one occasion had found them together in the middle of nowhere, on a journey that not only could have been considered hazardous, but at the same time, had been proven rewarding as it had brought the two men closer together. And together, with a friendship that had long since proven the test of time was how Slim wanted things to remain, no matter what anyone else said about Jess now or in his past.

If there was a man that knew Jess the best, including all of his past tarnishes, it was Slim. Others could say they'd heard about him or learned about him through others, and some of those people held rather sordid details and biased opinions of Jess' history, but Slim heard the stories firsthand and now lived the present ones alongside of Jess. He could see how the retelling of a tale through Jess' viewpoint showed that he wasn't the same man that had lived those rough days. He was older and wiser, even Slim could say that about his own self and he hadn't ran around with ruffians, but in Jess, it was a change that showed, even glowed.

Slim had spent nearly two years getting to know who Jess Harper really was, seeing how the man lived and acted, sometimes responding to a seemingly simple issue with an outburst, but that wasn't the core of who he really was. Jess was compassionate and had a deep loyalty to those he called his friends and anyone that had been touched by Jess' caring hand knew the depths of his being wasn't as rough as his exterior sometimes showed. Perhaps he wasn't slow to anger, but when displaying that characteristic for the right causes, he used it rather well, and all who stood behind his temper were usually on the winning side of a battle. It was because of how Jess Harper had shaped his character over the years that gave Slim the reason to proudly call him partner and friend, and never to call him a convicted killer.

Jess wasn't guilty, of being a rascal, yes, but murder? Even Jess' temper couldn't raise that high. Slim had seen Jess pushed to the fullest, but he'd never seen him take that pressure and turn it into deliberate killings, and there had been plenty of situations that they'd been thrust into where a man without restraint could have given in to viscous retaliation. Slim knew that Jess just wasn't that kind of man. There was something else that marred the alleged truth on the poster and it was another detail that Slim wouldn't ignore. Jess was a skilled gunfighter. Even if his hands had taken on different work these past few years, the expertise had never left him. Jess' reflexes were too good to fire his gun recklessly unless he knew the opposing man was aiming to kill him first. Before ever firing a gun, Jess wouldn't be missing any details like a man not being armed. Slim might have known these things, because he and Jess were the closest of friends, but to the vast majority of men that were outside of their tightly knit relationship, it wasn't known at all.

Slim folded his hands together and dropped his head to rest on his clasped hands. Perhaps he should have had a few more sips of the strong coffee to help keep his eyes open, but the weight on his shoulders kept his head down and soon his eyes drifted closed where sleep took control until the first light of day lit up the horizon. When he raised his head, the pain in his neck wasn't the first thing that registered in his mind, but it was thoughts of Jess that brought him to his feet. While rubbing the stiffness in his neck, he walked to the front door and opened it wide as his eyes roved in every direction looking for what was missing. He took himself all the way to the barn to continue his search but with an empty stall there to meet him, Slim exited just as alone as he'd been the night before.

Slim would have liked to have remained standing in his stillness, to aid the hurt that he felt within, but the ranch and the work that needed to be done wasn't going to stay paused just because he was. He fed the stock first, as the hungry chickens had nearly begun to peck his boots before his hands scattered their feed and then after the horses had their mouths full of the hay he forked into the trough, Slim freshened their water, splashing a handful onto his own face when he was finished. He brushed a sleeve over his mouth and looked up at the sky, noting the time was drawing close to prepare a fresh team for the westbound stage's arrival.

It was common knowledge all along the various relay stations that the first stage of the morning was always the most informative. Anything newsworthy that happened the previous day was always carried by driver, shotgun man, passengers, or through the mail. The wanted posters bearing J. Harper's name would be included in the bundle and Slim dreaded the moment the coach would wheel around the corner and pull up by the house. Talk, he knew, would be all about Jess, whether it be the truth or purely gossip. Slim didn't want to hear anything but evidence that had emerged overnight declaring his partner as innocent, but what came, wasn't anything so encouraging.

As soon as the stage rolled to a stop, the driver was talking, and it wasn't to inform the passengers that they'd arrived at the Sherman Relay Station and state the usual jargon that they could get out, stretch their legs and have a cup of coffee, that is, if one was ready. Slim could offer what was in the pot, but since he hadn't downed more than a sip in the middle of the night, what it would be like now possibly could send each throat into a hacking fit that would silence any forthcoming words for the duration of the stay. As it turned out, Slim wished he would have offered every drop to the stage driver as soon as the horses had come to a halt.

"I hear a man that knows Jess by sight saw him outside of Medicine Bow last night," a fairly new driver named Olly talked quickly, his eagerness to share the tidbits of knowledge clearly evident by his rushed words and the near smile he boasted. "He said that someone took some shots at him and Jess high-tailed it out of there in a hurry. Kind of makes him look all the more guilty, doesn't it?"

"Who wouldn't turn their horse in a swift run the opposite way if someone was throwing lead in their direction? Would you stick around and see if the next bullet knocks you to the ground?" Slim looked up at the man with slight disgust.

"Well, I guess not," Olly had to reply in honesty with a momentary drop of his head, but then his eyes seared into Slim's face again. "But it proves that Jess is heading in this direction. I wouldn't be surprised if he'll hit Laramie tonight. The whole town's likely to be on edge like it was perched on a cliff! I don't suppose it makes you feel very good knowing that it's your partner that has got everyone up in arms, huh? You do look a little peaked, you know."

"Just get the coach back on the road," Slim started walking away, not liking the burning feeling that was spreading through his cheeks. He knew that if another word was said his skin would turn a shade closer to scarlet and show his true feeling was nudging closer to irritation and not anywhere near being under the weather.

"Need to change the team first."

The reminder brought Slim's feet to a halt and then he walked in a straight line to the corral and he had the team switched in record time, not saying another word to his fellow employees or the coach full of passengers. As soon as the wheels were back on the road to Laramie, Slim walked angrily into the house where he found the stack of wanted posters left on the table, likely deposited by the shotgun man while he had been gabbing with the driver. There were others there, not just the one marked with Jess' initial before his last name, but it was this one that made his heart hammer loudly in his chest.

Why was it that with just one printed letter, people could readily lay the entire blame for a murder at Jess' feet? If the initial had been an S. or a G. the only talk would be that perhaps one of Jess' relatives had gone bad. Maybe one had, but it wasn't what anyone other than himself was willing to believe. To be honest, Slim didn't really know what to believe, other than Jess' innocence and he could never lose faith in his best friend, not for a hundred posters printed with Jess Harper's description on it.

But, and sometimes Slim wondered why such a word even existed, for it did nothing other than make a faithful heart be turned into disbelief when placed in the right, or perhaps wrong, context. Slim trusted his friend, trusted in Jess, but it wasn't easy to trust in the unknown. He had already been faced with a faith or doubt situation with Jess before and after fully placing his trust in Jess they plowed forward into the unknown together when a notorious bounty hunter turned sheriff hauled Jess to Willow, Colorado. The foreboding however existed here too, but something that Slim had seen in Jess during that difficult situation nagged on his mind once more. Running changes a man, or perhaps it's the fear that goes with it, but if Jess was being fed by the news of being wanted and started to run once more, maybe that was the man who Slim didn't really know. That's why he needed him home.

"Where are you, Jess?" Slim spoke aloud, but nothing around him could take true notice of the anguished sound that wove its way through his question and throughout the remainder of the afternoon, he had repeated the question at least a dozen times and every time it was uttered, he was still without an answer.

The hour had nearly turned to be completely dark when Slim strode outside and leaned against the support beam on the edge of the porch, his eyes automatically roaming back and forth in his persistent search even if there was little he could see. He tasted the stormy conditions that were building in the sky, feeling a similar emotion inside of his heart, but from completely different elements. The day had come to an end without anymore news than what had arrived on the morning stage, but that had been enough to get Slim's mind wondering and it was now in full force with all of the work that had kept his hands busy during the day being fully completed. If Jess really was on his way to Laramie, would he sidestep the ranch or make it his target? If Slim had known the answer, he would have saddled up that very moment to meet him somewhere on the road even if a storm was ready to break loose. But when a man didn't hold all of the answers, even when the questions involved his best friend, it was safest to stick close to home and it had nothing to do with the threat of lightning strikes. It would be proven this night, at least.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Mort saw the telegraph operator exit the building in quickened steps and had the distinct feeling that he was bringing him news, and not the type that would set his mouth into a smile. He held his breath as the paper was placed in his hands and then watched as the man that had done the delivery scurried back toward his office with a harried glance over his shoulder with every other step as if he was expecting a villain to step out of the shadows and attack. Mort dropped his eyes down to the note, its brief, but substantial message making him shudder. Harper, or at least a man using the name, was seen riding in the direction of Laramie.

Mort tucked the note in his pocket and then crossed his arms over his chest. If the message was anything near accurate he'd be finding out sometime tonight, unless the rider's aim suddenly shifted to a ranch twelve miles to the east. If that happened, Mort would have to trust Slim's honesty, but Mort sincerely hoped the wanted man, truly guilty or not, would stay in a straight course to his town. It was his job to apprehend, to question, and also to protect. Before that could happen, however, he would watch and he would wait and sitting in a chair in front of his office was the best place to do both.

Just when one thought that the humidity had already reached its peak, the insufferable moist heat took itself a whole notch higher, a definite precursor to a storm. The sky had long since darkened, but with billowing clouds rolling in from the west, blotting out the sprinkling of stars that otherwise gave a shimmering splash of light to the land, the threat level loomed enough that every door and window in town had already been shut up tight to keep the would-be elements outdoors. Mort knew he should do the same, but he stayed seated, hat drawn low near his eyes as he continued to wait, as if he knew the man he was expecting would choose a night such as this one was destined to be to enter, perhaps to slip through unnoticed, but he couldn't, not while a lawman was watching.

A distant rumble brought Mort's head up and his eyes darted over the blackest sky, expecting it to come alive with fire, but it remained drenched in ink, but the far off sound declared what was coming, perhaps, foretelling something else. When the heavy silence took hold of his town once more, he stood, ready to retreat to a place where the lashing of nature couldn't reach him, but he was stopped in unmoving tracks. Footsteps, slow and deliberate, with jingling spurs attached to each boot, had just entered Laramie. It didn't seem odd that he'd arrived on foot, for leaving a horse outside of town meant that he wanted his presence to remain secretive, without gaining any unwanted attention, but to his unknown thoughts, he had gained a lawman's. Mort knew without seeing even an outline of his frame that the man was who he had waited for. If only he knew the exact name that was attached to the newly arrived wanted man, because it would truly determine his course of action.

Mort stepped into the street, following the sound and knew the exact moment that his presence was detected by the change in pace in front of him. He didn't slow his own rate, but remained steady, not wanting to turn what could possibly be a peaceable encounter into an unfriendly chase. The steps took a turn, now more shuffled in pattern and as Mort changed his own position, everything in front of him drew a deathly silent.

"Harper?" Mort said the name with a large amount of emphasis on the question mark.

There wasn't much he could see at all as the darkness was thick and heavy, like there often was before a storm. Mort could feel the sparks of lightning in the air before a bolt even flickered in the night sky, whether it was that or trepidation that caused the hairs to stand up on the back of his neck, went unknown. There was a man in front of him, of this he could be certain, but not a single feature could be made out. He could have been standing next to a complete stranger or his best friend and wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. If it wasn't his town that he knew as well as the face that reflected in his own mirror, he wouldn't have even known where he stood. But Mort knew by instinct alone that his feet were slowly inching forward along the back of the Laramie Print Shop. He couldn't help but wonder if the man doing the hiding knew the alleyways just as well as he.

Mort ran his tongue around his mouth as it felt as dry as if he'd swallowed a portion of a desert, coming with the feeling that he was about to discover a friend or foe, or perhaps both, right in front of him as he stepped deeper into the blackest shadows. Mort could hear a rapid breathing, it wasn't his own, for he was holding his still, and as he continued to contain the air in his lungs, he pulled his weapon, only then, allowing himself to breathe. As Mort fingered his gun, his left hand trailed up the side of his vest searching for the star, as his eyes searched the pitch dark for a face that he knew was there. He was a sheriff, sworn to uphold the law and he wouldn't turn back now, even if he couldn't see who he was aiming at, even if it was Jess.

"Jess?" Mort said the first half of his name with the same amount of uncertainty as he'd spoken the last, while in his head he pleaded that there would be a response and that it wouldn't be delivered from a familiar, gravelly voice.

The only sound that was returned was spurred boots being pushed backward through the dirt, the little clink of noise as the same spurs touched a wooden wall. Mort envisioned the man in front of him suddenly had found his back against the same wall, a place where no man, especially a wanted man, ever intended on being. A good man, given the right situation, could feel that his options had run out with such a scenario as this one had and be driven to strike like a rattlesnake. Mort still didn't know which category the man he faced would fall into, good or evil. Jess, he was positive, would always retain some form of goodness, but that could never be said about a frightened rattler.

"Jess, talk to me, Son," Mort spoke the sincere request in a whisper and it felt as if something jerked inside of his chest when the response wasn't what he'd hoped for as he heard distinctive movement in front of him, an arm being raised, but not that was going over a head in surrender. "Don't make me do this," Mort felt moisture touch the rims of his eyes and it wasn't because at that moment a sharp wind tore through the alley, signaling the beginning of the storm in the sky that couldn't match the one that was about to be unleashed in front of him.

A hammer was touched and Mort did the same, both guns preparing to be fired, it was now just a matter of who would pull the trigger first. When it happened, neither man could be certain who's bullet exited the gun first, but in the same second that it came, the sound of the reports exploded in each set of ears, followed by the rough thud of a body hitting dirt. Only one of the bullets hit its unseen target, as the other only penetrated into a wooden board in the wall, not touching fabric or skin at all.

Lightning flared right overhead, illuminating everything as bright as day. It showed the man on the ground just as vividly as the one that remained standing, still gripping the gun in his right hand, but no longer in an aim toward flesh, but pointing down at the dirt. It showed the blood, seeping through a light colored shirt and a hand that clutched the pulsating wound on his abdomen. But what it couldn't show was the pain, as it was something that could only be felt, in the man that had been shot, and in the one that had done the shooting.

"I didn't wanna do it," a raspy voice spoke aloud, but through the ongoing rolls of thunder, it wasn't fully distinguishable and as another bright light exploded above him, seeing an obvious exit route, he took it at a full run.

Mort gasped, trying to raise himself from the ground, watching the retreating figure, but the blood was coming too fast to allow himself the ability to move more than a few inches. He dropped his head to the dirt as the first angry droplets of rain fell from the sky and splattered him in the cheeks, not being strong enough to turn his face away from the torrent that was about to come. A wave of pain mixed with an overwhelming jab of nausea washed over him as it threatened to drag him into an abyss, which strangely would seem to be a more welcoming darkness than what currently pressed into his eyes, but there was need greater than his own to stay above that line of oblivion, even if death would later claim him.

As the rain continued to fall in earnest, Mort lay still, his body involuntarily quivering as the shock intensified, making him unaware that it wasn't just the thundering that was going on in the sky or the violent pattering that hit the earth, but was a rhythm of footsteps coming his way through the muddied street. He flinched when hands touched him and when a lantern swung over his face, he opened his eyes through slits and saw familiar faces hovering over him. He tried to speak but no sound could emit and as he was lifted from the ground, his entire being would remain silent as his body went completely limp.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Slim heard the horse approaching at a swift gallop, his body swinging out of bed before it came to a full stop in front of the house. He had retired in his clothes, as a man with a heavy burden on his shoulders often would do, so he only had to retrieve his gun from where it perched from his belt alongside his bunk before stepping to the door. Seconds were all that it took between his feet hitting the floor and his hand touching the door knob, but in that short time span, the anxious thoughts hammered in a painful thud with each racing heartbeat that whoever approached like a wild wind could be the last person he would want to see, or the only one, and either way, it could still be Jess.

"Slim!" The voice met him before the recognition took place, but it was a deputy's star that Slim's eyes focused on first. Suddenly fear was all too real.

"What's happened?" Slim asked, feeling like he was going to be choked by his own emotions.

"Mort's been shot," the deputy breathed heavily through each word, "it's bad, real bad. He asked for you and you best come quickly."

"I'm on my way."

Dawn had fully lit up the earth with color by the time Slim's horse trotted into Laramie, but with the solemn expression on each face as he rode toward the doctor's office, it felt as if it was still pitch black. The overnight storms had passed, leaving the streets damp and muddied, but what still remained as if the lightning still flared was the oppressive tension in the air, which not even a violent act of nature could cut. Slim dismounted, every eye pointing at him, some shooting daggers, others showing pity, but Slim returned those gazes without reproach or regret.

Doctor Sweeney's office was still lit by the lamps that burned brightly through the night as Slim entered, his eyes being drawn from the flickering flame to the movement that came behind an inner room's closed door in mere seconds. He stepped to the door, needing to know whether life or death waited on its other side but before his hand touched the handle, the closure became opened and Doc Sweeney stepped through, giving Slim only a glimpse inside of an unmoving figure as the doctor ushered with his hand for Slim to move to a chair near the physician's desk. Slim didn't want to sit, but rather felt the need to pace, but he remained standing still as the doctor settled his frame into his own cushioned seat.

"Is he going to make it?" Slim asked, his voice showing the grave concern that he felt inside of his entire being.

"It's still too early to tell," Doc Sweeney sighed as he looked down at the floor. "The bullet did damage that I did everything in my power to fix. I'm not a miracle worker, Slim, and I'm afraid that these hands of mine weren't skilled enough. Someone greater than me is going to have to take over and I hope you join me in prayer, because Mort's life is in God's hands now."

"Some would say that's the best place to be," Slim replied, placing a hand on the doctor's shoulder.

"Indeed," the doctor nodded, bowing his head as both men paused in combined silence, sending their earnest pleas heavenward. 

"I was told he asked for me," Slim said softly, the breaking of the silence tore another anguishing piece out of his battered heart because of what might have been the reason for the summoning.

"He did call for you," Doc Sweeney nodded, looking back up to meet Slim's eyes that were a saddened, moist hue and he figured that his own were something close to being the same. "He was hard to hear, but in a brief moment of wakefulness, he said, 'get Slim'."

"I'm here," Slim turned his head to the room where Mort lay in deep stillness, "but whatever he needed to tell me remains alone inside of him."

"I honestly don't know how long he'll be that way," Doc Sweeney leaned back into his chair, shaking his head slowly back and forth. "It all depends on his internal resolve whether he pulls out from the darkness or doesn't arouse at all. If you stay in town awhile, I'll let you know if he awakens."

"I'll be around," Slim nodded and then with the same gesture returned from the doctor, Slim walked to the front door of the office. Waiting, especially in such a heartrending situation, wasn't an easy task to accomplish and passing the lengthy, grueling minutes by while staying in the exact building where a turn for the worse could happen was even harder. He would let the time tick off while keeping his feet in a steady rhythm to somewhere, although at the moment he knew not where they'd take him.

The crowd hadn't parted much since he first went inside. There were less women standing around, but there were still several men with angry stances, and every head turned to see him as Slim placed his feet down the steps in front of the doctor's office. Whether they were there for communal support or just waiting for the news on Mort's condition, or perhaps something far less sympathetic, Slim wasn't quite certain, but he had the distinct feeling that the majority of the milling townspeople were thinking about Jess. Slim was, too, but not for the same reason that had brought the group in front of him together.

Whenever people gathered en masse, there always seemed to be one that was delegated the leader. Perhaps it was a self appointed position, or just whoever in the lot had the loudest mouth, but here in Laramie it would be no different. Slim had only taken three strides in his aim of nowhere when the selected man stepped directly in his path and then soon was encircled by the remaining bunch, swarming together like wolves, ready to attack, although for Slim, he wasn't their unsuspecting prey. He knew very well their intent, however wrong it might be.

"You're in my way," Slim said slowly, trying to keep himself calm, but already could feel bursts of anger flaring in his chest from the need to protect his partner from every dark accusation that had already been hurled at him and what was yet to come. He didn't know the name of the antagonizing man staring him down, only recollecting seeing his face from time to time, at the saloon mostly, which could define this man's character plenty.

"We want to know what you're aiming to do," a finger was thrust into his chest and tapped three times after the statement was finished.

"About what?" Slim asked, not taking his eyes away from the face directly in front of him. He knew, but he wanted to hear the man say it, otherwise, he might explode and since the opposing fuel was already lit, he didn't want the entire town to erupt before everything unsaid was out in the open.

"About that untrustworthy, no-good, saddle tramp turned killer that you call a best friend!" The finger pressed into his chest harder, as if the motion would drive his vocal point inside of Slim just as firmly.

"You watch what you're saying," Slim forcefully removed the jabbing finger away from his chest, giving an extra shove of the hand that went with it back to the man's side.

"You're only angry because you've been fooled by a murdering skunk all this time you've been sharing your ranch with him," the man's sneer was just as ugly as his words. "Maybe you should be lucky instead, because he's never pulled a trigger on you."

"Jess is nothing what you're making him out to be," Slim defended his partner with noticeable strength running through his words. "I trust him and I don't doubt the good man that I know him to be!"

"You call him 'good'?" The man had a filthy laugh to match his tongue. "Who calls a wily serpent good? Next thing you'll be saying he's on equal levels with an angel. When in reality, we know he's nothing more than the de…"

"Jess has done nothing wrong to merit the trash you're spewing," Slim said defiantly, glad to cut off the man's fiery statement as if he had snipped them out of his throat with a pair of scissors. It was either that, or slam his fist into the man's forever opened mouth and Slim knew that considering the fury that mounted in his chest, that possibility could still happen.

"Jess Harper shot Mort!" The words somehow echoed off of every building and everyone shuddered with their fierce return.

"You don't know that!" Slim returned with just as loud of a shout, the shuddering being spread around once more.

"Oh, don't I?" The leader of the pack whisked a piece of paper from his shirt pocket that held the characteristic appearance of a telegram and waved it near Slim's face. "This fell out of Mort's pocket when we picked him up to carry him over to the doc's. Read it and then try to keep defending Harper!"

Slim reluctantly took the telegram and as he silently read the single line, he couldn't help but feel the color drain from his face. He swallowed, knowing that not only the angry man in front of him expected him to read it aloud, but everyone else around did too, even if each and every one of them already knew what it said. "Be Advised. Harper spotted on the Jubilee Road heading for Laramie."

"He was coming here," the man ripped the telegram from Slim's hands and held it high in the air. "Mort knew he was coming and was waiting for Harper and when he found him, Harper shot him down cold. If Mort Cory dies, Jess Harper will hang from the highest tree in Laramie and I'll be there to tie the knot! What do you say, fellows, are you with me?"

Slim stood still as a chorus of shouts of agreement and triumph surrounded him, watching as the group of men that he'd called friends and neighbors were quickly turning into a lynch mob. He had come to the end of his patience with the group when he'd first stepped through the doctor's office front door, and that was before a single utterance had ever been spoken, now, he was one step away from doing exactly how Jess would react if found in the same situation, result to violence. He didn't know if he should be grateful or even more perturbed by the fact that Mort's deputy was nowhere to be seen.

"Get out of my way," Slim gave the command through gritted teeth as he forced his hands to remain along his sides.

It took several seconds of looking at a sinister smile, but the man finally stepped aside and Slim walked through the narrow opening of men that took their lead from the outspoken man and allowed Slim the space to exit. He would have liked to have gone farther than just across the street, but as soon as his boots touched the opposite side's boardwalk, he heard the steady rhythm of footfalls behind him and he knew if he turned, there the antagonist would be, along with the rest of his cohorts, which Slim used to call his friends.

"Where are you going?" The voice reached around and tapped Slim on the shoulder, but he still refused to place the front of his body back in the direction of the menacing face. When the result wasn't what the man intended, he took his hostility a step further. "Not wanting to say, huh? Perhaps you know where Harper is and you're going to aid and abet his escape. Doesn't that sound something like a good partner would do, or rather, a partner in crime?"

"Why don't you just go on into the saloon over there," Slim pointed to Windy's, still keeping his back to the man, lest he punch him in the jaw, "and silence yourself while pouring some whiskey down your throat?"

"I could do that," the man nodded, "but then I might miss seeing Harper get brought to justice." He looked at the men around him, seeing their support he deepened his tone as he slowed down his speech, nearly growling the words in Slim's ear. "He fooled you, Sherman, but he didn't fool us and he didn't fool Mort Cory. That's why he shot Mort because our sheriff was going to toss his backside in jail where he belongs. Harper's a killer, a no-good killer. Don't you understand what I'm saying, Sherman? Does it have to get any plainer for you to see? Jess Harper gunned down Mort Cory!"

"You don't know it was Jess!" Slim whipped his body around becoming face to face, nearly toe to toe with the vile worded man. "You can't put an accusation that heavy on a man without truth to back it up. A man's innocent until proven guilty, or have you forgotten that part of the law? I'm glad Jess can't see the likes of all of you standing together against him, ready to send him to his death for a crime you don't really know anything about. Jess wouldn't treat you this way and you know it. He's hotheaded, sure, but he's a far better man than what I'm looking at right now. You should all be ashamed of yourselves for being so ready to jump on a man just because part of his name shows up on a wanted poster. Not a single one of you can say that Jess hasn't done something good for you. You owe him better than this!"

"We owe him nothing but the rope that'll hang him high and dry!"

Slim's hands reached out in a flash and grabbed the loudmouth by the collar and slammed him into a wall. The crowd stepped back, giving the needed space for the two men to engage in battle, but except for a slap across Slim's jaw and a fairly weak kick to his leg, there wasn't much in a two way fight, for the sway was highly favored on Slim's side. He used every ounce of anger and turned it into strength and he suddenly knew how Jess often felt when he was in such a position, which made Slim want to fight even harder.

"You're going to eat those words," Slim shouted as he pressed his fingers so hard into the fabric that circled the man's neck that they began to ache, but he didn't stop, for outward pain was nothing compared to the emotional and internal pain that had been inflicted on him and Jess' name. "I won't be satisfied until you swallow each and every one of them if I have to personally slam them down your throat!"

"Slim!" Doc Sweeney's voice reached clear across the road and slapped Slim hard across the face.

Slim's hands released the collar and he took a few steps backward, keeping the sputtering man in sight until there was a great enough span between them that arms and fists couldn't make contact. Slim heard the doctor call him again, this time without the demanding magnitude thrown in his direction, but more of an urgent plea and Slim hurried toward his office, afraid with each step that he took that once beside the medical professional, he wouldn't want to hear what he had to say, about Mort, or about what he'd seen him do across the street. If there was a reprimand anywhere on the doctor's tongue, he held it, only giving him the statement that was most vital at the moment for Slim's ears to hear.

"Mort's regained consciousness," Doc Sweeney said as he walked swiftly by Slim's side to Mort's room, "but he's very weak. I don't know if he can talk or how long he'll hang on, but get in there quick, Slim, and show Mort he's got someone rooting for him."

Mort's face was ashen, so white that he could have blended in with the bed sheets if the top layer of blanketing hadn't been a patchwork quilt. Slim stepped softly, not letting his boots even make sound as he came to Mort's bedside, afraid that his moment of consciousness had literally only been that, for a moment, but as he removed his hat from his head, the movement brought a flutter to a weary set of eyes and Slim knew that Mort was still awake. Slim swallowed the thickness in his throat, forcing himself to remain strong and not allow the tension to be read on his face, from what had just happened out in the street or from what lay beside him.

"Slim," Mort's voice was so quiet, it couldn't even be defined as a whisper, but Slim heard, and he responded.

"I'm here, Mort," Slim wrapped his hand around Mort's, barely feeling a returned squeeze from a fragile grip and leaned his head close to his mouth, not wanting to miss a single word.

"Slim," Mort took what seemed like a dangerous amount of time before he drew in a shaky breath before continuing. "It wasn't Jess."

Mort's voice was weak, his words came forth in a muted tone, but there wasn't any doubt separating the contraction of the 'was' and the 'not'. Slim wanted to smile, but seeing Mort so near to death the action was impossible to take, but there was a burst of enthusiasm inside of his chest that rang with the news. It was not Jess! His partner was the innocent man that Slim had claimed him to be. Even though there hadn't been a doubt in his own heart, now he could truly silence the myriad of heads full of disbelief and lies that were just outside of the walls, with truth, and not just his own physical power. But knowing that Jess was not the wanted criminal that so many had insinuated him being, someone was, and to help keep Jess' name clear, he needed to know.

"Who was it?" Slim asked, unable to contain the eagerness in his voice at what the answer would bring.

"It was…" Mort's voice quivered, barely hanging on to consciousness, "a different … Harper."

Slim saw Mort slump, his head turning slightly aside as he fell back into painlessness. Slim called for the doctor and stepped back, letting the physician take over. For a few seconds as a stethoscope was placed on a chest and a wrist was lifted, Slim was afraid that he'd just witnessed a good friend die, but as a small tug at the corner of a mouth drew upward on the doctor's face, Slim knew that it wasn't over, at least, not yet.

"Doc?" Slim let the shortened name be the entire set of sentences and questions that he wanted to say and ask, but didn't.

"He's still with us," Doc Sweeney nodded, still counting the beats in the wrist. "His heart is pumping a little stronger, not enough to say he's turning a corner, but it's there. Maybe it helped getting the truth off of his chest. Yes, Slim, I heard. Most doctors have a sharp set of ears on their heads and in this instance, I'm sure grateful that I do. I'll sit with Mort for awhile. You best take the news on out of here to that mob, or else the lies about Jess will continue to spread."

"Yeah," Slim took a step toward the open door of the recovery room and then turned his gaze back to Mort, wishing his words could be heard. "Hang in there."

They were still there. Most groups usually dispersed when seeing their leader nearly throttled, but this wasn't a normal set of people ready to throw any and all charges at one of their own, but needed to know if the man that kept them in law and order was going to live or die. Slim still garnered their attention as he took a step toward their center, but without the loudmouthed man hurling rubbish for all to heartily agree with still in their midst, he had the necessary time to speak the words that Mort would want him to share.

"Mort's still clinging to life," Slim spoke loud enough for even those that weren't a part of the sizeable group to hear, "and unfortunately, Doc Sweeney still doesn't know if he's going to pull through. But there was an important piece of information that kept Mort fighting, because he knew he couldn't die being the only man that held the truth in his hand. Mort just spoke to me, I pray not his final words, but all of you need to know what he said. It was not Jess! Do you hear me, or better yet, do you hear the words of our sheriff? It was not Jess!"

If silence was an actual sound, the volume of what now was heard was deafening. No one moved, perhaps not a single breath of air was being inhaled or exhaled. Everyone stood in their own stillness, stunned by the truth that they had refused to see and now were forced to believe. A man that could possibly be defined as being on his deathbed would not proclaim a lie, especially when that man was a lawman, their lawman, Mort Cory, the sheriff of Laramie. One by one, the crowd dispersed until only Slim remained. For several minutes, he stood alone, deeply breathing until he felt his heart rate return to a more normal level and then he took his horse's reins in hand, mounted, and rode. Someone had to track the true gunman's trail and someone had to find Jess. Slim was determined to do both.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

It was difficult to ride away, leaving Mort fighting for his life in a doctor's bed, not knowing what the final outcome would be when he returned, but Slim knew that if he were able, the sheriff himself would tell him to get on the trail, especially if no one else was. Slim had taken note of the man that wore the deputy's star was sticking close to town, to keep his eye on things there and Mort's condition, Slim assumed, but no matter the reason, it left Slim to track a killer alone. It didn't matter to him if he was in a sizable posse or as the single rider that he was, Slim was bound by duty's strong cords to both Mort and Jess, through law, but mostly, through friendship. It would take him where he needed to go, but for how long, that was an answer he didn't know.

Slim chose a northern route to start his search, but before he found any form of tracks that could possibly belong to the man who'd shot Mort, he had shifted his horse westerly. It turned him away from a road, perhaps not on an obscure pathway, but far enough from a regular route to fully arouse Slim's suspicions. Not many men would have been out traveling in the violence of a thunderstorm anyway, unless it was a man running from a crime and it was rare when they stayed on the wide open roadways. He was on the right trail, of that he was certain, and Slim knew the farther that he traveled into the hills that around any bend in the road, tree or sizeable rock could be a killer with a weapon pointed right at him. But it wasn't this fact that brought a sigh through Slim's lips before wetting them with the tepid water from his canteen.

There was a heavy weight on Slim's shoulders that he hadn't addressed since he'd been hit with the onslaught of emotional turmoil that took over when the news of Mort's serious wound had been delivered to him. Now that he was away from the heat of the moments in town that had kept every other thought at bay, the burden had its chance to resurface, now even more troublesome than before. Slim knew that Jess had been, and still was, being targeted. Even though Mort passed the needed information through his weary lips to Slim's eagerly listening ears that Jess wasn't the guilty Harper, spreading that knowledge, with it only just finding its beginning in Laramie, couldn't be done fast enough to stop trigger happy men from pursuing Jess. Bounty hunters were known for trailing their victims far into the depths of the wilderness, where no telegraph office existed for miles and some might not have even cared about what was being relayed on the lines anyway about the one whom they hunted.

Slim had already heard from the stage driver's mouth, whether fabrication or truth was yet to be known, that Jess' life had already been threatened. Gunshots heading in his direction might have been said to have missed in Medicine Bow, but enough time had passed between that retold story and the current time that another gunman might have been able to perfect his aim. Slim shuddered as he couldn't help but take his thoughts on a darkened path as he realized that the misstated wanted poster could still end up taking his partner's life.

There was another side to the coin of Jess potentially being missing and it wasn't much friendlier than him being on the receiving end of a fast flying bullet. The mysterious Harper was on the loose, running from his recent act of gunning down Laramie's sheriff and wouldn't be welcoming unknown visitors. If the two had somehow come together, and it wasn't out of the question since trail wise, the paths from north and west often intertwined, what would then possibly unfold? Were they family? If so, would the reaction be keeping their guns holstered as they swapped memories around a fire? But if no relation at all existed, would a quick gunfight ensue? Slim couldn't help but wonder about a family connection, considering the similarities both men possessed, but without Jess, Slim didn't have the answers, but then again, even with Jess, there weren't always answers to be found.

Slim knew some Harper history, but not the whole. Getting back stories out of Jess didn't always come with the form of a question on Slim's part, but being in the right place at the right time when Jess felt like sharing. He had a hard life, so Slim understood his reluctance to bring up the memories from his youth and Slim would never pry into anything delicate that would make Jess uncomfortable with sharing. It made it more difficult to deduce if the killer Harper was related to Jess or only shared the name. Slim did know that there were seven Harper's in Jess' immediate family before the fire. He'd lost both of his parents and two siblings in the raid by Frank Bannister and his gang, leaving Jess alone, barefooted, burned and broken with a sister and an older brother. But unless Jess had lied, and Slim knew without thinking about it that he wouldn't have told such a falsehood, Jess' oldest brother had been hung two years after the fire took their family near the Mexican border, making J. Harper completely unable to be one of his brothers at all.

Slim knew, however, that most families had vast amounts of cousins, spreading through uncles and aunts of various generations that would remain strangers unless properly introduced by a wizened elder of the clan that somehow knew one and all, good and evil alike. Slim himself didn't know everyone in his own and since he knew there was at least one Sherman with a sullied past in his family, it didn't make him share in that guilt of a wayward relative, therefore, it wouldn't with Jess, either. It was too bad that not more people thought with the same type of logic.

He was getting deeper into the hills and the tracks were becoming less visible, which indicated that the rider was taking better care of where he let his horse tread to not leave an obvious path into a potential hideout. Slim slowed the pace of his own horse, all of his senses jumping forward on the trail in search for a sign that he was getting close and when they all came together, pointing at a clump of fir trees straight ahead of where he rode, Slim's whole body tensed. Someone was definitely ahead of him, had built a fire and likely rested comfortably on a bedroll, as someone who'd been traipsing around in the wilderness throughout the night likely would be doing. Slim pulled his mount to a stop a safe distance away from the unseen campsite, secured him to a tree and then with a reassuring pat that he would return, Slim put his feet in a direct aim to discover whoever occupied the camp, although he had a strong idea that he already knew his name, or at least, he knew the initial it began with and the handle that was stuck on the end of it.

Slim took slow, careful steps forward, not wanting to give his position away as the element of surprise was needed to be kept on his side, otherwise a gun full of bullets could get thrown in his direction before he even announced his entrance. He had let his temper take an uncharacteristic control of his emotions when faced with a loudmouthed bully in town, but now he needed to keep himself strong and steadfast. Slim's life depended on being fully alert so he could handle what was to come and not allow his mind to be clouded by lies that might be attached to his partner's name like what had happened before. It was truly time to be more vigilant, for the one he was looking for was now only a stone's throw away.

Slim had known he hadn't discovered Jess' camp from the moment he first identified the scent of coffee for this brew smelled fresh and invigorating, in Jess' pot it would have been bitterly strong. Now that he had eyes on the man, even though from where Slim crouched in the brush he could only see his back, he knew he would recognize his partner even in that position and Slim noted with confidence that this man wasn't Jess at all. There was little elation in that thought, for Slim knew he had most likely come across the other Harper, the one that actually was wanted for murder and as he'd already proved he had the guts to down a lawman, it wouldn't take much to pull a trigger on him too.

Slim took a deep breath, knowing that he had to prepare himself for a fight, by gun, hands, or carefully selected words, and that no matter what kind of battle would arise, he'd be doing so alone. He wouldn't call what pumped in his veins fear, but a great uneasiness flowed rapidly through his bloodstream, not because he might be facing a known enemy, a killer who'd shot Mort, but because he could be making direct contact with the man that had sent the law and innumerous amounts of men against his partner. It made this personal on more than one level. He saw the man shift his body position and when he saw both hands, he let the rifle that he held make the first sound, creating an instant flinch hit his opponent, most notably between the shoulder blades.

"Raise them high," Slim commanded with authority ringing in his voice.

"I must be getting careless," the reply came as both arms came up over his head. "I shoulda heard you coming a mile off."

The voice wasn't as low, but the dialect was similar, the mark of a Texan. Slim licked his bottom lip and then sunk his top row of teeth into it. He'd found J. Harper. Whoever the man was, whatever the connection might be, now he would be finding out. Knowing that it wasn't truly his partner gave Slim the supported strength that he needed to proceed with what he knew needed to be done. To take him back to Laramie where if any doubts about Jess remained, that everyone could see what Slim now viewed, a completely different man.

"Slowly stand up, but if either of your hands even tremble as you do so, I'll put a hole in one of them," Slim kept his rifle trained on his target as he took several steps closer to the man and as he fully rose to his feet, Slim added a command, "turn around."

As the body turned to fully face him, Slim started with his eyes at the top of his head all the way down to his boots. The hair was dark and the eyes were blue, his frame was lean and as Slim had already discerned, hailed from Texas, but other than possibly sharing the same last name, that's where the similarities abruptly ended. Slim could look this man straight in the eye, which put him at least three inches taller than Jess. There were lines around his eyes, more deep set than a man in his late twenties would have, indicating that this man was probably ten years older than Jess, too. They could pass for relatives, but they could also be strangers, and Slim couldn't help but wonder if they were both.

"You ain't wearing a star," it was commented with scrutiny, his eyes flashing back at the man who had him pinned useless behind the rifle that he held. "Bounty hunter, maybe? If so, I reckon you've got the wrong man."

"I'm not a bounty hunter," Slim moved his head back and forth twice before continuing, "and I have the right man."

"What makes you so sure?" The man asked as his breathing became more rapid. He knew what he'd done. He wasn't overly sorry about the murder that had taken place in Dover, for both men likely were equally as deserving, considering the cheaters that they were, but it had been gunning down Laramie's sheriff that had struck him with some regret. He'd never killed a lawman before. Definite hanging offense if he'd become charged and he knew that's why this man was here now.

"You're J. Harper, aren't you?" As soon as the question came out of Slim's mouth, the face across from him darkened with the truth, prompting Slim to slowly span the space between them. "Dark hair, blue eyes, voice of a Texan. I've been trailing you since you left Laramie."

"I wasn't in Laramie," the lie came quickly on his lips.

"No?" Slim stopped in front of J. Harper, the only distance between them the length of his rifle. "Then I suppose your horse was just somewhere near Laramie and spent the night during a thunderstorm wandering around in the hills before meeting up with you here this morning."

"All right, so I was there," the lie was turned into truth with a sly grin and a shrug of his shoulders. "What's it matter anyhow? Are you taking up a collection from all guests that happen to traipse through your town? Do I owe you a nickel or a dime? I've got a few here in my pocket if you'll just let me reach for…"

"Keep your hands where they were," Slim cautioned with a frown and as the hands inched upward a notch higher, a shirt sleeve that had been unbuttoned around the wrist slid down closer to the elbow, revealing a jagged scar around his forearm.

"You sure are edgy," Harper said with a flicker of a smile. "You mind telling me why?"

This was where Slim needed to step carefully in how he answered a killer's questions. To Slim's knowledge and what he sincerely hoped, Mort was still alive. If this man that gunned him down knew that he'd lived, long enough at least to make it known that Jess Harper wasn't the one the entire Wyoming Territory was after, and perhaps to live all the way to testify to potentially place a rope around this one's neck, he would certainly want to finish the deed. Slim didn't have a guarantee that something wouldn't go wrong here. He might hold a gun with a direct aim of Harper's chest, but this wasn't just a regular outlaw in front of him, but this was a murderer on the run and wily, cunning ideas could already be running rampant through his head. If the tables suddenly turned and Slim was on the wrong end of a trigger pulled gun held by Harper's hands, then if he said the wrong thing about Mort or Jess, he just might be allowing two more murders to take place.

"Wanted men always make me a mite touchier," Slim let the explanation speak louder than his own volume, "especially ones that are still wearing their iron. Let's lose yours." Slim's hand wrapped around the man's pistol and with much power being thrust forward from his arm muscles, he threw the gun deep into the brush, its landing not even bringing a sound to their ears.

"Feel better?" Harper nearly growled. "What's your name, anyway?" The additional question was brought forth after a minute had passed with only a cold stare being his reply from his previous inquiry.

"Slim Sherman," Slim replied, keeping his mouth set in a firm line. "And yours? I know there's more to it than just an initial."

"Jason Harper."

The requested information being produced brought a chunk of weight to be released from Slim's shoulders with noticeable relief. At least they didn't have the same first name, too. If he'd said his partner's name, proclaiming to be Jess Harper, he might have wrapped the barrel of the gun around the man's head.

"So, you're Sherman. I shoulda known," Jason Harper nodded as a ray of light began to break forth inside of his head. "I've heard some talk, oh not a lot, but at least I now understand where the connection for this, shall I say, altercation comes from."

When a man runs in certain circles, especially the outlaw kind, it wasn't uncommon for men with similar reputations to offer insight on important information. After the killing in Dover he'd spent a night jawing with the Catlin gang while on their way to Colorado Territory. Since the notorious brothers had spent many years on the run after growing up in Laramie and knew their way around rather well, they proved valuable in what they'd heard about another man named Harper who worked for his best friend, Slim Sherman. Discovering that there was another man, someone that he possibly knew that could take the blame for the murder he'd committed, Jason decided he had to go to Laramie to find out for himself. It was when he was pitted in the dark alleyway against the law when the sheriff mentioned Jess' name that brought everything together, and now having Sherman in front of him, a current threat or not, it all was beginning to make sense. And if he was right, and his outlaw's intuition told him that he was, he was figuring that he could use this man's loyalty to gain a necessary advantage.

"What do you mean?" Slim brought the question out with a hint of apprehension in his tone as he expected he already knew what the outlaw meant.

"You know Jess," it wasn't said as a question, but it was implied by the facial expression that he wore.

"I know him," Slim's reply was without a nod, but not without the firm sound of the truth.

"Is he like they say?"

"If you're meaning if he's like you," Slim replied, adding strong emphasis on his single worded answer, "no."

"That's where I think you're wrong," Jason smiled, showing a sliver of his teeth, and in this Harper's mouth, there was no gap. "Every Harper has a streak of evil inside of him. Some, just more than others, like me. But I bet when push comes to shove, Jess will show his true colors."

"I'm sure he will," Slim said with confidence, although his belief wasn't backed by misguided thoughts like this other man's was.

"You sound so sure of yourself," Jason narrowed his eyes, trying to make Slim squirm under his sharp scrutiny.

"I already told you that I know Jess."

"Uh huh. How many men has he killed? Gunfighter's keep tabs on that sorta thing, you know. So, has he told you? No?" It was a cackle, not a pleasant laugh that followed. "You don't really know him then. I bet he'd tell me. We're Harper's. You're not."

He shouldn't have let the words get to him, but they made him think and as the planned intimidation penetrated into his mind, Slim dropped his eyes and he knew at that moment he had let his guard down as he felt the rifle move, and not by his own hands. Harper lunged forward, sending the rifle into Slim's stomach and along with the jab in his middle came a pair of hands toward his neck. The rifle fell to the ground as Slim was thrust backward but before he stumbled into the dirt he balled both fists together and smashed them into Harper's stout jaw, making his backseat hit the dust first. Fury brought him to his feet almost quicker than Slim could brace himself and as Slim's next punch was blocked, Harper rammed his left fist into Slim's abdomen and with his right, pounded both of Slim's cheeks until his knees dropped to the ground.

Harper slid his fingers around the handle of Slim's pistol but Slim caught the man's wrist before the gun was fully freed from his holster. Both men refused to release their tight hold, one on the gun, the other on the wrist, and as they stared into each other's eyes, Slim saw in their depths the evil that was really there. These weren't the eyes of the Harper that he knew and even if their blood was shared, they were as different as night and day. Seeing the stout difference and how it excelled his heart rate, Slim's fingers squeezed even harder and the gun was dropped, but before his other hand could find it, Harper's foot sent the gun in a wild streak through the dust where it came to a stop in a pile of moss. Slim came swiftly to his feet but instantly was careened backward as he was hit in the jaw, but he didn't fall to the ground. Swinging his arm around, his fist gave only a glancing blow to Harper's face, which brought the opposing fist to club him near his ear and then with both hands, Slim was shoved to the ground.

Harper dove for the rifle, but Slim's hands wrapped around an outstretched leg, hauling his whole body backward where he landed in a heap a far enough distance from the gun that it couldn't be reached. Slim got to his feet, his own aim for the much needed weapon, but he barely made it a step in its direction as he was hit full force in the back which took both bodies airborne. When they landed, their locked bodies came close enough to the campfire that Slim could feel the heat begin to sear through his shirt, making the skin on his arm begin to sting. He rolled, trying to prevent a burn, as the man on top of him did the same and they inched further away from the fire, kicking up enough dust that some of the flames coughed and sputtered, nearly dying down to nothingness before wrapping tightly around the wood that had been placed in its middle once more.

Slim drew to his feet, pulling Harper up with him. Neither man was ready to concede, although with their labored breathing and openly bleeding wounds, it wasn't going to be long until one or the other fell for the final time. It was an equally matched fight in muscle, height and determination, but Slim felt that he had more at stake, that he wasn't just fighting for his own life, but inside of Slim's forcefully pounding heartbeat was a fight for Jess' life as well. Motivation gave a man strength and as Slim dodged fists, received the blows and gave several in return, it was shining brightly in both men's ignited eyes that they held similar doses of it. But no power could keep burning without eventually going out.

When Slim landed on his back from a well placed kick, he kept his eyes on the same foot that had put him in such a position and when it came down to stomp in his face, Slim grabbed it and with much force, twisted the ankle so that it bent oddly all the way up to the knee and as Harper grunted in pain, Slim shoved the foot hard away from him, sending the man sprawling into the dirt where he landed face first in the dust. Harper lay in stillness, not unconscious, but close enough to being licked that Slim felt he could take a moment to breathe more steadily.

Wiping what was more than a trickle of blood coming from his nose, Slim stood up too quickly as a wave of dizziness washed over him, bringing him back to the ground. He touched his forehead, trying to dismiss the sensation that he was going to pass out and through his blurred gaze, he saw Harper start to push himself up from the ground with his arms. If he went for the guns that were scattered across the now fully disheveled campsite, Slim knew he would soon be a dead man and all he could do was wait for the moment to come. But Harper only rose to his feet, hobbling on one leg as he did so and with a bloodied scowl on his face, a low groan escaped through his lips, magnifying the fierce intensity that emanated from his entire being.

"Now might not be the proper time," Harper leaned his body in Slim's direction, from pain and exhaustion, but also being positioned by his fury, "but I'm gonna kill you. But first, I think I wanna meet up with Jess and have us a little reunion. Mark these words coming through my lips Sherman for I'm vowing to see you dead because you're likely the only one that'll stand between me and Jess. So you better get ready, because the next time you see me, you'll wish you hadn't. You're gonna die slowly and violently and just maybe, I might have some help in doing it."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Water pooled into a pair of cupped hands and then as they slowly rose out of the creek that they had dipped into, Slim's face received the full dose of the water as he splashed it over his entire head and then he repeated the process twice. The droplets that landed on the rocks beneath him were tinted red as the streams that poured down his cheeks mixed with the bloody wounds that were there. He took his kerchief from his pocket and wiped the remaining moisture, colored and clear, until nothing was left to drip from his chin.

With a groan he stood to his feet, once more assessing the damage from the fight, being grateful that only skin was broken and no bones. After Jason Harper had ridden away, in which direction Slim's dazed condition couldn't quite discern, he'd waited until his head had quit spinning before carefully going over his body searching for anything that needed a doctor's care. Like he'd just now reaffirmed, he hadn't suffered more than a few gashes and dark bruises that he could hide by a buttoned shirt and pulled up trousers, but no matter how much water he'd doused himself with, he knew he'd be wearing the marks on his face for several days.

Slim retrieved both weapons and as the pistol was now at his side, it made the smarting wounds on his body a little less painful for if faced with another adversary, he would be fully armed with more than a pair of fists. With his horse's reins now in hand, Slim debated his next action. It was getting late in the day and he couldn't help but want to check on Mort's condition, yet the need to be home, to wait for Jess for another night swayed heavily in the direction of the ranch. Either way he took, it would be dark before he arrived and he knew he wasn't in any condition to ride deep into the night lest he wanted to fall face first in a ditch somewhere and be mistaken for a drunk. As he gingerly placed his backseat in the saddle, Slim made the decision to return to the ranch.

Slim pulled his horse to a stop several feet from the house and let his gaze rest on the windows that were aglow. Although not entirely bright, any small light in an otherwise world of darkness that sent its shafts outward could be considered a beacon. Slim gauged that the yellowed beams were from a single lamp being lit, likely from the hurricane glass and not from a handheld lantern as the glow that was being cast on the outdoor ground had more of a welcoming color in its gleam. It would have been an inviting scene after a difficult day, except, Slim knew he hadn't left one lit. Someone was at the house and he had invited no one. He had left instructions for Jud to help out with the stagecoaches and the stock, but that had been the limit of his request. Since the man lived just outside of Laramie, it wasn't likely that much work would be done in his absence and definitely wouldn't be done at night.

Slim dismounted and left his horse to graze a fair distance away to not gain any unnecessary attention from whoever was in the house by a sudden sound of approaching hoof beats. He let his hand find the gun on his hip, putting it in the position to be readied to fire if need be. Slim stealthily moved toward the house, his eyes searching the interior of his home through every window, but saw nothing to indicate who the intruder might be. Jason Harper hadn't minced his words, he wanted to meet up with Jess before he put an end to Slim and this just might be that promise fulfilled. Slim reached the side of the house, sliding his back against the wall as he inched closer to the door. Once within arm's reach, Slim reached for the handle and gave it a turn, the tingling that raced up and down his spine seemed ominous warning enough that he was about to say howdy to whoever was in the house with gunplay.

Inside of the house where the single lamp freely glowed, a man took a forward step from the kitchen but froze his foot in place as he heard what was an attempt at a quiet approach coming from outside, but his sharp hearing thwarted any surprise. He flattened himself against the wall, gun fitted into his hand, waiting for the encounter to happen. He knew that a normal entry wasn't begun with secrecy, so whoever was tiptoeing up to the front door wasn't likely a welcome visitor. He held his breath when the door knob turned, ready to fire, whether it came as a warning shot or something more permanent was yet to be seen, and as the door pushed in an opening manner, he saw a bare hand with knuckles broke open wrapped around the barrel of a gun. Not another step would he let the incoming gun-toter in, he set his jaw firmly as his eyes narrowed in on his target and let a bullet fly.

The crack of the gun brought an instant splintering of wood near the window pane as the bullet made penetration and for a moment, the door started to swing back shut, but with a mighty kick the door bounced against the wall as the man behind it rolled inside, firing his weapon as he hit the floor. This bullet missed flesh as the would-be target dodged its deadly aim and as his feet found solid ground near the fireplace he braced himself for a return fire. Two gun barrels were in a direct and deadly aim, but when two sets of eyes suddenly met, they grew wide and the sound that replaced the reports if they had been fired were the shouting of a pair of names, almost simultaneously spoken.

"Slim!"

"Jess!"

"Dad-gum," Jess holstered his weapon as Slim matched the action with his own gun, "you trying to get yourself shot fulla holes?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Slim stood to his feet as he ran the back of his hand over his sweaty brow, wincing slightly as he brushed against the cut that was there.

"I wasn't the one sneaking up to the house," Jess pointed to the door that was wide open and as Slim turned his head to look at the hinge that had come loose when he kicked it, he let it swing shut with a cringe of noise from its bottom corner.

"I wasn't expecting you to be here," Slim said after the door went shut.

"I still live here, don't I?" Jess asked, carefully watching the expression on Slim's face. He wanted to question Slim's roughed up appearance, but at the moment, there was something more important to be discussed.

"Of course," Slim nodded, sensing the tension that was still solidly in place between them, "why would you ask such a thing?"

"Because of this," Jess pulled from his hip pocket a folded paper that Slim recognized at once as the infamous wanted poster, likely the one that had been left for all to see on the table. Jess shook its folds loose in one movement, his fingers gripping tightly to one side making a deep crease through the boldly printed name.

"That's not for you," Slim answered, grateful that he now had the proof to back up his words and not just relying on his own say so.

"By the number of times I've been shot at during the last few days, I reckon not many people know that to be true," Jess said, his words sharpened by the rough journey he'd treaded, not because he didn't put any belief in what Slim had just told him. "I've been running, hiding and dodging bullets everywhere I turn, nearly got my head blown off a coupla different times and not knowing a dad-gummed reason why and then I come home to this." Jess crumpled the poster into a ball and then tossed it into the cold fireplace hard enough that it bounced off of the rock wall and back onto the floor where it rolled to a stop near Slim's feet.

"J. Harper stands for Jason Harper," Slim picked up the poster, opened its now thoroughly crinkled page and pointed at the description. "I met up with him this afternoon. This fails to mention that he's near forty, is as tall as I am and has a scar across his forearm. Not you at all." Slim stopped for a brief pause, not long enough for Jess to notice that it was done on purpose as Slim didn't want to throw the inclination that Jason gave in front of his partner that he and Jess were related. After all, the man was an untrustworthy outlaw, therefore Slim knew it would be the wisest choice to let Jess do the deciphering now. "But maybe he's someone that you know."

"The name doesn't ring a bell," Jess shook his head, going through different relatives in his mind but not coming up with the same name. Most of his family was deceased and for the ones that might have been still hailing strong, he'd lost contact with many years ago. "Wait a minute, you said you met up with him, what happened?"

"Oh, we exchanged some words, fists too. He rode out while I was somewhat dazed on the ground," Slim answered with a hand reaching for the lump at his hairline, wanting to be careful how he relayed the entirety of his encounter with the sinister Harper since he knew how the partner Harper would react.

"A known killer took off, leaving you in the dirt without first finishing you off?" Jess asked with a puzzled frown.

"He didn't exactly have a weapon on him," Slim explained, adding a few more details with a shrug. "When I had the drop on him, I disarmed him and gave it a good toss. He'd probably still be looking for the gun if he'd taken the time to do the search."

"If that's the case, then you shoulda been able to bring him all the way in to Laramie," Jess said with more than just a little bit of exasperation backing his words.

"Like I said, we exchanged some words, too," Slim looked down at his feet, wishing Jess would let it drop, although he knew Jess wouldn't end his inquiries without hearing it all.

"About?" Jess crossed his arms over his chest. "Dad-gum, Slim, getting this story outta you is like trying to pry a fish from a bear's paw."

"Well, there isn't much more to tell," Slim shrugged his shoulders. "I don't think I need to recount everything that was said between us and certainly you don't need a blow by blow account of our fight."

"How'd you get in that fight anyhow, you said you had the drop on him?" Jess knew Slim was withholding something, but what, he couldn't figure.

"He's a crafty outlaw," Slim didn't meet Jess' gaze as he spoke which confirmed Jess' suspicion that Slim was indeed hiding something. "You know that you've got plenty of tricks up your sleeve when confronted by someone brandishing a gun. He's got several of his own."

"So he tricked you?" Jess asked, his eyebrow raised high enough that he wouldn't have needed to even form the words into a question as his face showed it for him.

"That's what I said, wasn't it?" Slim responded much sharper than he ever intended.

"What ain't you telling me?" Jess took a step forward and looked Slim in the eye and as both men stood for a moment in silence, Jess searched for the truth while Slim wished that he could hold it in. "Slim, I wanna know what's got your insides twisted, so spit it out."

"Jason Harper vowed he was going to kill me."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Once morning dawned, Slim could say that he had fully slept through a night. Despite the tension that still existed knowing that Jason Harper was on the loose, perhaps heading to the ranch even at that moment, he'd finally felt contentment settle inside of him because both he and Jess were back under the same roof together. Jess, on the other hand, couldn't get into a restful position, as the threat that Slim had relayed to his ears tormented him on a repeated loop through his head. Someone that shared his name and similar appearance, perhaps a relative he didn't yet know, but whoever he was wanted to kill his partner, and family or not, Jess would do whatever he could to stand in his way.

With a yawn and a shake of his head during the morning chores, Jess responded to the sound of the eastbound stage with the drawing of his gun, only holstering it when his eyes absorbed the image that it was Frankie driving the team and Tex holding the shotgun. If there'd been any problem, it would have shown in the pair on top of the coach before it rolled to a stop. He allowed himself to relax, but if an observant bystander was watching, they might have been able to notice that Jess' hand stayed relatively close to his gun, showing that he hadn't completely released his tension at all.

"Hear the news about Sheriff Cory?" Frankie asked as he jumped to the ground and began to open the canteen that he held.

"No," Slim's hands released the chain as his head turned sharply to see Frankie's expression, but whatever the news was, it wasn't being told in his eyes. "What's happened?"

"I heard at the depot this morning that Doc was telling everybody that he took a turn sometime in the night," Frankie said and then downed a long drink of water from the canteen.

"A turn for what?" Jess stepped next to Slim, the fear that it would be stated that it was a turn for the worst pounded in his temples. He couldn't help but feel the blame that Mort had been shot.

"Good, of course," Frankie answered, his mouth finally turning up into a smile. With the telling of the news, yes, but wetting his whistle helped draw the corners up into his cheeks as well.

"You mean he's gonna be all right?" Jess asked, his own smile starting to form.

"I don't know the details," Frankie shrugged, "but from what was being relayed around town, it sounded promising."

"Good to hear," Slim smiled and then his hands automatically began the familiar routine of changing the teams. Once the new set of horses were in place, he and Jess stepped back away from the animals as they were ready to go.

"Time to be on our way, Tex," Frankie motioned for the shotgun man to get back in position. "See you the next time around, Boys," Frankie waved and then started the horses in a run to meet with the road to Cheyenne at the top of the hill.

Jess stood with his hands on his hips, positioned just above his gun belt as he watched the stage turn out of sight. He felt immense relief about Mort, but he would have been the first to admit, he was more of the type of man to put off celebrating good news until he saw firsthand for himself that it was true. When Slim had told him about Mort's grave condition over a late night cup of coffee, he'd beat himself up on the inside again and again until he'd felt just as responsible as the one who really had shot Mort. Slim came up behind him, leading their horses by the reins and as he stopped next to Jess, he handed him the line for his mount. With a glance in each other's eyes, they shared their unspoken plan and their similar need to go to town.

Jess rode into Laramie and with the exception of Slim being by his side, he might have thought he'd entered a town he didn't even know. Visually the town was exactly the same as when he'd last stepped foot in it, as none of the buildings had changed, not even an added coat of paint, but what came to such a startling difference was how Jess was being looked upon as a stranger. Everyone that turned in his direction upon his entrance didn't offer a welcoming gesture or even the smallest of smiles like they had never laid eyes on him before that moment, but nearly every single one of them had. If there was any consolation with his cold reception, at least no one wanted to shoot him. Ever since the poster had been printed, this was the first time that Jess had ridden into any type of settlement without having to duck his head down low and hightail it to the nearest exit. But even if there wasn't a bullet flying in his direction, he still felt the hurt form inside of him as if there had been.

They stopped their horses outside of the doctor's office, Slim's dismount was done in a normal movement, but Jess stepped onto the ground much slower as the ongoing tension in the air affected him more than he wanted to admit. He felt scrutinized, even if no one was looking at him, and he took his steps as if his every movement would dictate whether he was truly the same man that had lived at the Sherman ranch for nearly two years or not.

"Come on, Jess," Slim reached his hand out and patted Jess on the shoulder twice, steering him in the direction of the doctor's front door with his hand and a bend with his head. "They know you, but right now, they're more afraid of your name than who you really are."

"Yeah," Jess frowned, "but it makes a man feel kinda funny inside knowing how little you're trusted."

"I trust you," Slim was quick with his response. "Now forget about them for awhile and let's go check on Mort."

"Sure," Jess answered as they approached the front of the office and opened the door.

"Doc, is it true?" Slim asked as soon as his eyes landed on Doc Sweeney seated at his desk.

"If your question is about Mort," the doctor spread a smile across his mouth, "then yes. He woke up in the night with a groan, but not from what I first feared when I heard it. He was complaining about being in bed, being hungry and thirsty, which is a sure sign that he's on the road to recovery."

"Can we see him?" Slim asked, relief flooding over him from head to foot, but it wasn't enough to completely dispel the threat still nagging in the back of his mind from Jason Harper's mouth.

"Go on in," Doc Sweeney answered with a gesture toward Mort's room, "but if he starts asking you for steak and potatoes, it's a definite no. I already told him he needs to be on broth for a few days and let his insides continue to heal."

"Will do, Doc," Slim said as he took the three strides to the partially closed door and lightly rapped on it.

"Come on in," Mort's voice reached Slim and Jess' ears before they pushed open his recovery room door. "I thought I heard you two out there. It's good to see you, especially you, Jess."

"You're looking a lot better than the last time I saw you," Slim smiled as he placed a strong, yet encouraging hand on Mort's arm that rested on the outside of his layer of blankets. "You sure gave us a scare."

"I'm sorry, Mort," Jess said with much sincerity as he averted Mort's gaze by keeping his eyes cast to the floor, "on account it coulda been one of my kin that laid you up like this."

"I don't blame you for someone else's actions, Jess," Mort answered as he attempted to sit up higher. When he couldn't pull himself up any further, both Slim and Jess' hands reached out and took hold of his shoulders and hoisted him far enough so that he was more upright, his back pressing into two overstuffed pillows. "Thanks, Boys, it gets mighty tiresome to be laying down all the time. Anyhow, Jess, I appreciate the apology, but you don't need to make it."

"But Mort, you coulda died," Jess ran his hand around the back of his neck with a rush of angst. "All because a man you thought mighta been me put a slug in you. If I didn't have such a rotten reputation, maybe this woulda never happened."

"I took a shot at him, too, Jess," Mort said, not surprised when both Slim and Jess shared a stunned expression. "I pulled the trigger nearly the exact same time as he did."

"You mean," Jess paused, glancing over at Slim and then back to Mort's face, "you didn't know it wasn't me and you pulled the trigger anyway?"

"I had to, Jess," Mort answered, his expression grim, "when it's either you or your opponent, you can't let sentiment stand in the way. I fired my gun, but when I was hit, I knew it wasn't you. You wouldn't be aiming to kill me. Get me out of your way, yes, but not to kill me. The same would be said for my action. The bullet from my gun should have landed somewhere in the alley behind the Print Shop and that'll be evidence enough to see where I did my best to aim at. It was pitch black, you know what it's like when it storms, ominous and angry, and that wasn't just in the sky, but in the very air both of us breathed. I couldn't see a thing and neither could he, but I still knew where the other Harper was positioned. A lawman just knows these things, it's engraved inside of us, I suppose kind of like how a gunfighter knows," Mort waited until Jess nodded and was grateful when a smile went with it. "Anyhow, listening for the movements and doing my best to pinpoint its accuracy, I fired the gun hoping I'd tear some flesh out of a gun arm. Obviously, I missed."

"But he didn't," Jess looked back down at his feet.

"I'm a lawman, Jess," Mort waited until Jess lifted his head once more to return his tender, and not just from being exhausted, gaze. "Things like this are bound to happen."

"But it shouldn't on account of me," Jess tried to not let the sigh that came after his words be audible, but it wasn't missed by either Mort or Slim.

"Jess, no man likes to get shot, especially taking a violent blow like this," Mort placed a hand over his abdomen, wincing with the touch. "But if I can find anything to be grateful for in my brush with death, and I can, it's that I saw the man that shot me and I can live to tell that it wasn't Jess Harper. Clearing your name makes my recovery a whole lot easier to handle."

"Thanks, Mort," Jess answered quietly.

"There's something else, too, Jess," Mort paused briefly, his expression taking on an apologetic hue, "I'm sorry I ever doubted you."

"Don't worry about it," Jess answered with a shrug of his shoulders. "Given the right circumstance, I reckon I kinda doubt myself from time to time."

"I wish there was more that I can do," Mort said with another grimace to his face, showing his two visitors that their stay was coming to a close. "I could see in the lightning flashes that it wasn't Jess, but if I was to describe this other man's details, it wouldn't be done with pinpoint accuracy."

"I could," Slim said, his mouth drawing into a frown as he revisited the encounter with Jason Harper in his mind.

"You saw him?" Mort asked, his sheriff's mind reeling as quickly as he fired off his questions. "When and how did this happen?"

"Yesterday," Slim touched one of the bruises on his face, "we had a little tussle."

"I thought you looked roughed up," Mort focused on Slim's battered face with a shake of his head. "Does he look the same?"

"More or less," Slim replied with a slight nod. "He was able to ride out before I could, though."

"Which means you're likely to see him again," Mort deepened his frown and if he'd known how accurate his assumption truly was, his facial expression would have been drawn worse than with just a frown. "And dang it all, I'm stuck here in this bed feeling useless. Slim, write down for me everything that you noticed about him and I'll see if I can get a matched description from Dover's sheriff, and I'm quite certain that it will. I've got to do something other than lay in a heap."

Slim found where the doctor had left a pad of paper and pencil on a nightstand and wrote down everything that he remembered about Jason Harper, which wasn't difficult since he hadn't been able to dismiss the man's harsh look that he had displayed as he unleashed his threat to Slim's life after their fight. Once concluded, Slim handed the sheet of paper over to Mort, grateful that its contents could be put to use in fully clearing Jess' name from any crime committed in Dover or anywhere else where Jason Harper may have left some damage.

"Thanks Slim," Mort quickly read the list with a proper name and description on it and then shifted his focus back to Slim and Jess. "I know I don't have to give you both a fair warning, but I'm going to do it anyway. Stick together, Boys, you're likely going to need to lean on one another a lot more before this is finished."

"We will, Mort," Slim answered, knowing that the promise that he spoke would go through to completion, "all the way."

"We best be going, Slim," Jess saw Slim nod in agreement and then Jess reached his hand outward for Mort to clasp.

"Can we get anything for you, Mort?" Slim asked after he, too, shook Mort's offered hand.

"Sure," Mort nodded as he placed a hand on his stomach, "butcher a steer for me and sneak some of the juiciest portions in through the window. Doc won't let me have anything I can sink my teeth into."

"We'll do that for you, Mort," Slim started to step away, showing a definite gleam in his eye, "after Doc says you can eat it."

"Aww, Slim," Mort groaned, "I'll be down to skin and bones before I can get home if I don't get some sustenance."

"Just obeying doctor's orders," Slim answered with a wink.

"All right, all right," Mort conceded and then he shook a finger at them both, "but this is more important than food. Keep watch at all times. I mean it, you two, be careful."

"Will do, Mort," Slim said as Jess answered with a nod. "See you in a few days."

Everything was quiet as they exited the doctor's office as the majority of townspeople continued to avoid being in the presence of a Harper. Slim couldn't help but feel the same protectiveness rush through his being that had existed when the lies and doubts about Jess were at its peak, but he knew it was now only a matter of time before opinions would change back to where they belonged on Jess. Once Jason's name filled the gap behind the initial on the wanted poster from the murders that originated in Dover, unwarranted fears would settle down and neighbor normalcy would return.

"Slim," Jess rubbed his horse's nose as Slim took the reins of his own mount in hand.

"Huh?"

"I'd kinda like to see where it happened before we go home," Jess said, turning his head toward the Laramie Print Shop.

"All right, Pard," Slim gave his agreement with a motion with his hand in the right direction, "lead the way."

Even in broad daylight there was a definite eeriness in the alley. There was little sign remaining of the shooting for when the thunderstorm had unleashed its fury, it had destroyed evidence of blood, footprints and any struggle that had occurred on the ground, for life or for death. What remained was a button, presumably from Mort's shirt, a short line in the dirt near the wall that possibly was made by a spur and an object that was stuck into a wall, the very thing that Jess had truly wanted to see.

"Here it is," Slim pulled out his pocketknife and dug the bullet from the wall. Once freed, he dropped the piece of lead into Jess' open palm.

"This bullet woulda hit him," Jess said as he enclosed the bullet in his hand, "if Mort hadn't been trying to avoid killing me. And now, 'cause Jason Harper's still hailing mean and strong, he wants to kill you."

"You heard Mort not laying any blame at your feet and neither do I," Slim said as he leaned closer to Jess.

"It's easy to say, but it ain't so easy to accept," Jess looked down at his feet as he spoke, "especially when there's still so much uncertainty in everything."

"I know," Slim nodded, placing a hand on Jess' shoulder. "But you need to not let it weigh so heavily on your shoulders like this."

"You're right, Slim, but the thing is," Jess slowly brought his eyes to meet Slim's, showing the look of confusion that was there, "I'm feeling all torn up on the inside. I know he's a killer and his place is behind bars, but part of me wants to know if Jason Harper and I really are related, but in doing that, it just might cost one of us, or both of us, or all three of us, our lives."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

With two men together on a ranch where the workload was endless, it was impossible for them to sit idle, even with a death threat looming over them. For two days, Slim and Jess put their usual amount of heavy labor into their long hours, but none of them were spent without looking over a shoulder now and then for any sign of the anticipated intruder. Despite their promise to Mort, not every waking moment was spent in each other's presence, since their duties often pulled them in different directions, as it was now, with Slim rounding up a couple of strays while Jess was busy working the forge. The next few minutes would hinge dramatically on their need to stick together.

Jess knew there was someone behind him by sheer instinct alone. The man coming behind him made so little sound, it could have been an Indian approaching, but there was no harsh scent of a hostile to go along with the stealthy movement, so Jess didn't think there was imminent threat that his flesh was about to make contact with an arrow. Jess kept his body moving in its natural rhythm, not wanting to give the impression that he knew he was no longer alone until the man was closer, or until he heard the sound of the hammer of a gun being touched. The gun, however, wasn't pulled, but when Jess felt the presence reach a dangerous level, he let the tools fall from his palms and he swung around, his stance unwavering as his eyes drew into slits as he was suddenly thrust into his first meeting with Jason Harper.

"You don't remember me do you?"

"Should I?" Every part of Jess' body was still, except for the fingers on his right hand, as they continuously rubbed together, staying in close proximity with his gun. As he looked intently at the man that shared his last name, he saw that his hand worked itself in the same manner, hanging just as closely to his weapon.

"I'm Jason Harper. We're cousins," the declaration brought a smile to the revealer's face, but a deep frown to the receiver's.

"How?" Jess asked, drawing an eyebrow up as he once more scrutinized his supposed kin. There was a family resemblance, but he could say the same about some other men he'd met up with since he'd taken to life being out on his own, but he never paused during the howdy-do's to ask if they could trace their roots somewhere through a great-great-grand-Harper. If this lawbreaker really was who he claimed to be, Jess would need more than just his say so to merit enough proof to claim him as a relative.

"Your pa and my pa were brothers," Jason answered as he watched the distrust settle on Jess' face. "Surely you remember your Uncle Simon?"

Jess responded without comment, only with a slight nod that was most noticeable by the dip of his hat. He remembered hearing his pa talk about a brother named Simon, but it wasn't always with pride when he'd relayed the stories and some, if Jess' memory was accurate, were whispered only to his ma when it was thought that the children were all sound asleep. There weren't many Harper's that were any good and it wasn't unusual to listen to his pa speak unkindly about any number of them as he was growing up, including a couple of rough brothers. If one of them had really raised the man across from him, then Jess could quite understand why he was a wanted criminal.

"We came visiting once, on up from Abilene," Jason continued, the smile growing at the corners of his mouth the more that he spoke. "You were just a little sprout then, maybe four or five. Course me, I was pushing through my teens, so I can recollect it a lot better'n you. There was pa and ma, me, my brother Stanley and baby Lisa. We stayed about a week in that little shack that you called home. We all slept in a row on the floor because there wasn't enough room for us all. You sure you ain't remembering any of this?"

"Yeah," Jess nodded, keeping his stare at an icy temperature as it bore into his alleged cousin's face. "I'm beginning to, but you've got one part of this all wrong. Your name wasn't Jason."

"That's true!" Jason laughed as he slapped his thigh with his hand, "I plumb forgot! My folks called me Jase when I was a kid, which sounded so much like Jess that while we were visiting, to avoid confusion, everyone called me by my middle name. Scott. Hah, I see the light flickering in your eyes, Boy. You remember your good ol' cousin, now, don't you?"

"I sure do," Jess said slowly, his mind filtering back through time, the years that had spanned somehow didn't seem greater than the twenty that it was as he saw himself as a young child in threadbare clothes, looking up at his big, brave cousin who was dressed like a Texas cowboy with a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his eyes, handkerchief in a knot around his neck and a gun belt wrapped around his hips. In those short few moments, Jess remembered a lot more than he wanted to. That teenaged cowboy that Jess had admired was everything that he'd ever aspired to be. From the way that he dressed to the way that he walked, talked and acted, Jess wanted to be just like this man. He was a murderer, a cold-hearted killer that was now after his partner, threatening to kill him like he'd attempted to do with Mort and Jess had wanted to be just like him.

"I'm glad the fog has lifted," Jason replied with a wide grin. "We can't have us a family reunion with only one of us doing all the remembering, can we? My, my, just look at you now, Jess, all grown up and spirited as ever."

"I wanted to be like you," Jess admitted through gritted teeth. Finally recognizing his cousin, seeing Jason's stance, his determination and the evilness that radiated from his being made everything come back to him and it hit him hard enough that Jess actually felt a painful dread roll over his entire body. Jason wasn't only an image of Jess' past, but was a stark illustration to what his future could become.

"And I hear you treaded that path some when you were younger," Jason retained his grin, now adding an extra glint in his eye. "Too bad we didn't meet up with one another all those years ago. I reckon we could've had quite the time together."

"I'll bet," Jess answered gruffly, "sharing a jail cell together more'n likely."

"I can think of worst places to be," Jason answered quickly. "Besides, we're family. We're supposed to stick together through thick and thin, even if in the thickness or thinness, hey, do you know which is which? – anyhow, even if we landed in jail, it'd be all right, because we're kin. Anyhow, let's quit jawing about jail, we ain't there now and likely ain't gonna be."

"We'll see," Jess answered coolly.

"You got too much grit in your teeth, Jess," Jason said with slight annoyance. "Why don't you take a few lessons from your experienced cousin and relax a little? Let your guard down and smile."

"I ain't a starry eyed kid anymore, Jason," Jess said, the sparks flying from his eyes proof enough to back his statement. "I ain't looking for someone to imitate. I've already made my own mark in this life."

"Oh, yeah?" Jason tipped his hat a little farther back on his head, revealing the dark locks of hair that naturally started to curl over on his forehead and stared at Jess with his steely blue eyes. "And just what exactly do you think that mark looks like?"

There was no right or wrong answer that Jess could give. He could say that he'd changed, left his past where it belonged, but what was in front of him was proof enough that a man that had traveled in as many unsavory ways that he had could never fully let it go. When the memories became a new reality, it was almost impossible to not let what had once controlled Jess' life not take over again. Even though Jess had turned a page in his life, pursuing good instead of evil and enjoyed treading the upward, albeit winding climb, it wasn't enough. His look, his image, this he'd never changed. He hated to admit it, and it wouldn't be spoken aloud, but in a way, Jason was right.

"You're not that far from turning into me, Jess," Jason sneered as he pointed a finger at Jess and then jabbed it back into his own chest. "We already share the look, the stance, the reputation and the name. All it takes is one little instant, one little error and bang! – you're on the wrong side of the law, just like me. Your name has already been marred before, Boy, and I'm sure there ain't many that don't know that for a fact now. Oh sure, you can clean yourself up, pal around with a do-gooder like Sherman, even go on and marry the preacher's daughter someday, but you'll never be rid of the mark of evil that's on your name, our name. So why don't you just drop the charade that you're a law abiding citizen and join me on the trail? Think about it, Jess, you know I'm right. With two Harper's teaming up together, nothing can stop us!"

"Don't listen to him, Jess," Slim stepped from the barn where he'd silently walked to when he saw the danger from the top of the ridge. His words brought two dark haired men to turn their blue eyes onto him, but what was being fully focused on was not that Slim was steadily walking in their direction, but that he was holding his gun.

"Stay outta this, Slim," Jess said his words with a sharp bite which brought Slim to a halt.

"Ooh, listen to my little cousin," Jason laughed, bending at the waist slightly with his amusement. "See what I mean? That one step just got a little closer. Come on, Jess, take it all the way!"

"Jess…" Slim's voice held a large amount of caution and if he were to admit it, the same amount of fear, that Jess was actually being swayed by Jason's words.

"Slim, I mean it," Jess barely looked behind him at Slim's solidly placed figure, wishing he could somehow forcefully remove his partner from his cousin's view.

"I can't do that, Jess," Slim answered with a slight shake of his head, "because I was in this before you were."

"Hah," Jason's short laugh turned into a grunt as his eyebrows drew into an angry line, "he's right. We do have some unfinished business, don't we, Sherman? But as I said before, I wanted to meet up with Jess first. We aren't done with our conversation yet, so why don't you just do as you're told and butt out?"

"Do as he says, Slim," Jess gave what he hoped was his final warning. "Holster your gun and stand back."

It was reluctantly done, but Slim obeyed. When he dropped his pistol back into his belt, he did step backward, but the only distance he would allow himself to take was two short steps, yet the action must have satisfied both men, for not another command was directed to him. It was impossible to watch both men at the same time and at first, Slim's vision darted from one Harper to the other, but when one began to speak again, Slim put his gaze entirely upon his partner. In truth, that's where it always should have been.

"Now it's just you and me again, Little Cousin," Jason ground a lot of emphasis through his teeth in his title for Jess. When he saw Jess' eyes begin to narrow, he lowered his voice further, making the question come out nearly in a growl. "Is that how it's gonna stay?"

"If you think I'm gonna turn on Slim, then…" Jess began but a hand jutted up to halt him at the same moment the words cut him off.

"I'm aiming to kill Sherman," Jason's eyes suddenly turned so cold, that the blue couldn't even be detected anymore. "So you don't have to turn on him, just join up with me and I'll gladly release you from this man's tight hold on you."

"You'll have to go through me first," Jess thrust a thumb in his chest, but did so with his left hand, as his right still remained close, and now even closer, to his gun.

"It won't come to that," Jason shook his head, keeping his eye trained on Jess' right hand, "because we're kin."

"Your point?"

"I shouldn't have to remind you, Jess, that a cousin, your own flesh and blood, is held in much higher esteem than just a friend, if you could even call Sherman that."

"Slim and I are partners," Jess said, not moving his stance so that there was no doubt that he was ready for a draw. "We're friends, the best of friends."

"So what?" Jason shrugged as he wore a smug smile. "Friends ain't family."

"What're you driving at?"

"We're kin, Jess," Jason hissed the words, "you can't go against kin. It's driven into us Harper's deeper than any stake could get hammered into the ground. It's not just any blood, it's Harper's blood. Yours and mine, your pa's and my pa's, it's thick, it's forever. Sherman ain't your kin or your blood. He's nothing, Jess, nothing but a make believe title that can be washed away with a little water. Whose side are you on, then, Jess? Blood or water?"

Jess stood still, his mind whirling as the fear began to mount that he wouldn't be able to stop his cousin from gunning down his partner, which meant that he wouldn't be able to stop himself from gunning down his cousin no matter what choice he would make. Jess held onto a small shred of hope that he could take Jason in alive or better yet, let the law handle his cousin even if the final verdict would be for his death. Jason was right about one thing anyway, it would be difficult to pull the trigger on kin. In the past, he'd never gone against his relatives, good or bad, but then again, he'd never been pitted against a member of his family and someone as close to him as Slim was. But then again, wasn't Slim his family?

"It's either turn on him or turn on me," Jason began to grin, seeing what he believed to be that Jess was being persuaded in his direction. He now only needed to drive the point all the way home. "Did your pa turn against my pa when we were visiting? We both know he didn't. And the reason why? Because of family, our family, Jess. Our blood is one and the same and it runs hot and true, just as it flowed deeply in our pa's veins before us."

Jess turned his eyes away from his cousin and found that Slim's gaze was directly upon him. He met his soft blue eyes and it only took a moment to see in their depths how much deeper blood really did go. There was no question in Jess' mind where his true devotion belonged and if it was blood that made the difference, then that was what it would have to be. Jess whipped his knife from the sheath in his boot and with determined strides in Slim's direction, he grabbed Slim's wrist and with a quick flick of the blade, he sliced into Slim's flesh. Before anyone could utter a sound, the same action was completed on his own.

"Blood is what matters, huh?" Jess asked, growing a smile as he turned his gaze from the growing red mark on his wrist to look at his cousin and almost laughed at the shocked expression that he wore. "Then take a good look at this!"

Jess' left hand gripped Slim's arm just below the line of blood that seeped from the open wound and then when he saw Slim's head give a slow nod of approval, Jess brought his own reddened cut to meet with Slim's. As soon as the wrists touched, both bloods became as one. The action wasn't concluded in a few moments time, but as the wrists throbbed against each other, the opposite hand of each man wrapped around the bloodied set, giving the poignant action an added bond. When they released, the blood, which didn't matter if it had come from Slim's flesh or Jess' flesh, dripped down onto both hands like it was significantly sealed in the center of their palms.

"Blood brothers," Slim whispered, but as it was spoken in awe, it was heard by them all.

"Seems to me that a brother is held in higher regard than a cousin," Jess said, his voice projecting as if Jason were standing a hundred feet away and not the ten that it was. "I ain't turning on blood or friendship, because now they're one and the same!"

"You don't know what you've just done or what you've just become," Jason spoke rapidly as his mind began to reel. He had completely misjudged his cousin's tenacity and a mistake of that size could cost him his life, but he wouldn't allow it to go that far.

"I know exactly what I've done," Jess fired his words back at Jason just as quickly as they'd come. He held up his wrist, the blood dripping less fluidly, but was still creating a red line of droplets trickling down his arm, becoming more evident when he gripped his hand into a tightly clenched fist. "And I've always known who I am. This just makes it permanent!"

"So it does," Jason answered, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and then settling alongside of his jaw. "Only now I don't know if I should call you Harper or Sherman."

"Don't call me nothing," Jess said angrily, lowering his wrist to point to the road, "just get outta here."

"All right, Jess," Jason nodded, taking a few casual steps backward, "I'll go, but I won't be forgetting, and I don't think you will either."

There was a moment when the next scene began to unfold that seemed as if time suddenly drew to a standstill. No words were spoken, not a breath was even drawn. Nothing moved until a pair of long, dark eyelashes drew together in a blink on Jess' face. That was when everything came alive once more. The brief moment of calm was gone and as it was when professionals were fully involved, a second was all that was needed for utter chaos to begin, especially now that a gun was held in a sinister hand.

"Look out Jess!" Slim hollered as soon as he saw that there was more than just Jason's hatred filled eyes pointing at Jess.

Jason pulled the trigger at the exact moment Slim's warning was concluded, allowing Jess the necessary time to pull his gun, but the weapon wouldn't remain in his hand. The first bullet missed him clean as his body flexed out of the way, but the second hit Jess' gun handle square, flinging the vital mode of defense somewhere behind him. Jess dropped to the ground as more reports were fired, rolling his body through the dust, hoping that the momentum that kept his body moving was enough to miss every bullet that Jason fired at him. Jess expected the searing pain as each blast exploded, but felt nothing but bits of dirt landing on his sweaty cheeks as the dust clouds billowed up around him. He took a short breath at the same time as a brief pause in the gunshots, but when the next bullet was fired, there wouldn't be another.

Jess lay flat on his stomach, breathing heavily through his open mouth and at the same moment as his head started to rise, a body began to fall. He winced upon the landing, knowing without fully looking that the bullet that had entered the chest would never come back out. What he didn't know was if the damage was instant or if he'd get a last moment with the man before the final breath was taken. Jess pushed his body upward and then walked slowly to the fallen man, his heart feeling like it was being squeezed out of his chest once his feet became still. Something smarted in his eyes and he made no attempt to wipe it away as Jess observed the motionless body. There would never be anything else between them again. It was over.

Jess dropped his head and looking down, he saw that his shadow covered the lifeless form below him, an almost fitting scene that in the last moments of a life, proof of his presence was entirely there. His breathing remained heavy as his heart continued to wildly thump in his chest, a reaction that wouldn't quickly be decreased. He bit his lip, first tasting dirt and then the flavor of blood touched his tongue as he continued to take in the tragic ending beneath him until a hand was placed on his shoulder. He looked up into blue eyes that were full of compassion, without a trace of evil, and Jess knew without a doubt that the man behind that tender gaze would be sharing in his sorrow.

"He's dead," Jess spoke quietly the announcement that they both already knew. There would be another grave dug, belonging to another Harper.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Jess sat on a log, the stillness around him was like a loneliness that couldn't depart. There was always a hollowness that settled inside of Jess' heart when a death occurred, but this time it went deeper, touching him all the way to the soul. He sighed, lifting his eyes to look around him at the land that seemed to sense his sorrow as it barely whispered a breeze through the green leafed trees. It was a familiar location, but since he was on Sherman property, he could have said that about anywhere, but this particular place held great significance, for it was at this very log, along the exact stream, below the same No Trespassing sign, where he and Slim had first met. Jess' shoulders were slumped and his head was down and although he heard the steps coming up from behind him, the knowledge of the presence was not shown anywhere on his body.

"Jess?" Slim stopped a short distance behind his partner, the concern evident in his tone and fully registered on his face. After the burial had been completed, Slim hadn't been surprised when Jess saddled his horse and rode away. Slim had watched him go, staying rooted to the ground even when he couldn't see Jess' profile anymore. He would have followed, not because he worried that Jess was purposely fleeing for good, but Slim knew his partner well enough that he knew Jess was seeking time to be alone and Slim didn't want to interfere in the delicate process that was Jess' intimate grief. Although Slim knew there was no precise allotted time for anyone to spend in solitude, for that was something that differed from person to person when faced with emotional turmoil, he wouldn't allow Jess to remain in such a state for too long. Slim had waited until the eastbound stage departed, over two hours since the fatal bullet had met its mark and then he mounted, letting his horse follow the pathway made by his faithful friend.

"Sit down, Pard," Jess nodded with his head to the empty space beside him.

"You're not angry at me, are you?" Slim asked as he seated himself down in the offered place. He stretched out his legs in front of him as they were too long to be comfortably positioned on the log as Jess was and then crossed one foot over the other.

"No," Jess shook his head, his eyes somewhere between Slim's feet and the stream, not entirely focused on anything at all, "why would I be?"

"I killed your cousin," Slim replied, his voice soft with emotion.

"He was gonna kill me, Slim," Jess said with a pained expression on his face. "You did what you had to do."

"I know," Slim barely nodded, "it's just that I know how you feel about your family."

"I can't really have feelings for someone that I didn't know," Jess answered and although it wasn't the entire truth in what he said, he didn't feel as if he was lying either. He did have feelings for the dead man, but they were in a pile of mixed, confusing emotions that swirled in the center of his being and at the moment, there wasn't any way possible that he could even begin to figure them out.

"Nevertheless, I was still the one that pulled the trigger on him."

"I don't fault you Slim. The fault was in him, and in me. You see, the thing is, Slim, I wanted to be just like him," the unfocused image in front of Jess suddenly blurred away and he saw himself as a little boy once more, following in his older, cowboy cousin's footsteps. "He was right when he said that one step's all it takes. I could still be just like him. Maybe someday you'll be shooting me down."

"No, Jess," Slim responded quickly, "you're not going to end up like him at all."

"You don't know that, Slim," Jess folded his hands together but didn't keep them stationary. His fingers rubbed over each other in a continuous motion, showing Jess' real agitation that was on the inside of him. "There's no guarantee that the next time that the Harper name is printed on a wanted poster that it ain't really gonna be for me."

"I can guarantee it," Slim said with confidence. "You're not the same man that you were when you were young, riding rough and rowdy. You changed from what you used to be, but your cousin never did. For Jason, it wasn't just one bad step that he took after an ill played poker game but something that had started a long time ago."

"What do you mean, Slim?"

"There was a note from Mort on the afternoon stage," Slim explained, "seems he sent out enough telegrams to the right places to get some quick responses about your cousin. With the description that I gave Mort, Jason was properly identified as the guilty man for the murder in Dover. But that wasn't the first time. He's been wanted before, many times actually in the past ten years or so. He didn't always use just one name. Different warrants are out for Jason Scott and Jason Harper, and likely a few other aliases over the years that we'll never know about."

"Jason Scott does sound familiar," Jess said slowly, now rubbing his clenched fists on his chin.

"It could," Slim nodded, "he's said to be the best, or worst, depending on how you look at it, gunfighter that ever came out of Abilene. I guess he kept his business separate from his other ventures, using Scott for gun fighting and Harper for outlawing and personal matters. From what Mort wrote, this was the first time a printout of him appeared this far north."

"I kinda remember the name and the reputation," Jess answered as he slightly shook his head, "didn't make the connection until now, though."

"It's probably a good thing that you didn't," Slim said with eyebrows raised, thinking how things could have dramatically been different if the two Harper cousins had met up, or faced off, with each other all those years before.

"Yeah," Jess dropped his hands back to his thighs with a soft whack, "but knowing all that takes me right back to being just like him, and I am, reputation and all."

"You're not a gunfighter anymore," Slim quickly pointed out.

"Ain't I?" Jess frowned as he shook his head. "I might be doing different work now, but I reckon a man never fully sheds who he once was. After all, it's forever in the blood."

Slim reached his hand out and turned Jess' wrist over, revealing the scabbed over line in his flesh and then rolled his own wrist upward, placing it close enough to Jess' so that they touched, hand next to hand, wrist next to wrist. For a moment neither of them spoke as the image that their matching bloodline created, like a perfectly placed branding iron, side by side together became like a living fire, emblazoning inside of each soul. The wound would one day heal and wouldn't be displayed in such boldness as it was now, but they both knew that it had been etched not just on their outer flesh, but in their inner being forever.

"Don't you remember what this signifies?" Slim asked, waiting for Jess' response to light on his face. When it did, he tapped Jess on the head twice with his fingers. "You're part Sherman now. You can't be all bad. But it's not just my blood that makes it so. You're a good man, Jess, and today you proved it in more than one way. You wouldn't have turned against me even without this. You didn't turn on me, therefore, I know you won't ever turn on yourself."

Jess ran a finger over the small cut at his wrist and a piece of the scab pushed aside as he did so, bringing a small dot of blood in its center start to form. His gaze penetrated into that red mark as it welled upward, seeing and feeling its meaning, and then without intentionally doing so, his mind produced another image. A young boy searched for someone to admire, but there was no longer a teenager with a future bent on destruction standing there, but now a man was in his place. It was Slim. He couldn't go wrong by following in the steps of a partner like Slim Sherman and that was exactly where he wanted to stay.

"You know, Pard," Jess began, letting half of his mouth slide upward in a smile, "that blood goes both ways. I reckon I did get some of that clean cut Sherman in me, but you got some disorderly Harper, too. Do you feel any different?"

"I wouldn't mind some of your characteristics," Slim said as they both stood up, "just don't give me all of them."

"What, don't you wanna be like me?" Jess asked with a fake pout.

"Let's just say now that we're blood brothers, we'll share a good mixture of us both."

"Fair enough," Jess nodded, "but I'm gonna be watching for you to start practicing your quick draw."

"Come on, Pard," Slim put his arm around Jess' shoulders as they both shared in a laugh, "let's go home."


End file.
